Jumping Worlds
by Leelu's skittles
Summary: Because of a broken prophecy orb, Harry gets a vacation. Where? Why, in various worlds, of course! Time travel has far to many complications, after all. Flitting from world to world, Harry finds out that he should have taken a break a long time ago.
1. The Beginning

_Hello readers. If you're waiting for a different story to update, so am I. FF . bloody net won't let me edit (read: upload) any of my fics that don't have a complete stamp to them. So I've new chapters ready and racing to fucking go. They'll be up as soon as I can fix whatever the fuck is happening. _

_This story is a light hearted one, of which the sole purpose is doing crossovers. I just want to see Harry in different worlds, with different situations, reacting to different people. A happy Harry, for once. Normally, with different world stories, something horrible has happened to Harry, and he's all angsty/untrusting/annoying. Not that those stories aren't good, because I love them. Also, I will, more than likely, stick Harry with any person I want to. Which propably means a hell of a lot of slash, and maybe even a bit of het. But It's okay, because you can skip those chapters. I promise. So here you have the first chapter of Jumping Worlds._

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The first thing Harry did after the death of Sirius was, unsurprisingly, stupid. Not going after Bellatrix, no that was completely instinctual. In fact, it wasn't until about twelve hours after watching his dogfather practically swan dive to certain death that it registered to Harry that Sirius was gone. Dead. No more. That he'd ceased to exist. Forever.

So Harry felt that he needed to give Sirius a fitting tribute and, as such, didn't think twice on what he was about to do next. Had he decided to think twice, however, he would have realised that proper thought would have given Sirius the send off he wanted. While thinking twice had never been Sirius' style, even the Black heir hadn't tried to transform into his animagus form without supervision, even though his, James' and Peters supervision was only Remus, or even without having completed the correct steps.

Harry had only just discovered what his animagus form was, and had barely flicked through the rest of the highly illegal book. He knew the incantation, the basics of bringing his form into line and how to fall into the proper meditative state but that was about it. Everyone else was leaving him alone, which was bloody unfortunate because if Harry hadn't been secluding himself and if people hadn't decided to let him, he would never have had the chance to cock up another part of his life beyond repair.

And so, Harry chanted the spell, half rushed with excitement, half mis pronounced with grief, and fell into the appropriate trance like state. He stayed that way as a greyish silver mist descended on his mind. Harrys mind, actually, was quite organised, to himself at least. He would never be good at shielding his mind, because of both surviving the Killing Curse and the abuse he suffered as a young child.

The way Harrys mind was structured, however, he was able to draw people into the, literal, jungle of his mind and keep them trapped there forever. No one had ever seriously tried to break into Harrys mind, though. Snape didn't count because, when Harry cleared his mind, the jungle and his natural defences disappeared with his thoughts.

Harry sat on a fallen and dead log which was, unknown to him, a repressed memory from when he was a very young child. He twiddled his thumbs as he waited for his animagus form to appear. It would, eventually. So Harry waited as patiently as he could, before he thought exceptionally hard on a deck of cards, and started to play with them once they appeared in his mindscape.

Although, Harry kept replaying the same game over and over again, because it was the only format his mind knew, and the only one it could reproduce.

Harry lost seven hundred and twenty nine games of solitaire (the exact same game) before his animagus revealed itself.

Stalking out of the mist and the shadows, Harry was once again confronted by his beautiful animal form. It was a panther. Fur as black as pitch, haunting eyes that were a decidedly feral shade of yellow and deadly wicked teeth walked lazily towards the teen.

Harry had been disappointed by his form at first; he'd wanted a wolf or a dog or a stag. Or a bird, so he could actually fly. Instead, he'd gotten a bloody cat. Harry still had the scars from where the panther had slashed him as he'd voiced his complain. He'd decided that a panther wasn't so bad at that point in time.

Harry stood up; walking foolishly towards the creature he couldn't properly control yet, and petted his head. A deep rumbling filled the jungle as Harry moved his hand to scratch behind the panthers ears. The teen smiled as his animagus form purred. Harry, who had been having doubts – in which Harry had his most sensible thoughts – put them aside in the face of his panther.

So Harry knelt down and looked the panther in his eyes, muttering a spell that he only vaguely knew and then head butting the panther. There was an almighty howl from the big cat and Harry, but then there was silence as the two of them fought for dominance. Unfortunately for Harry, the panther had much more experience in that area than Harry.

In the real world, the only indication that Harry was losing the fight for dominance with his animal form was a slight crease that had appeared in between his eyebrows. At this time, Hermione had silently entered the attic, where Harry had been hiding with Buckbeak, with a tray of food. She saw Harry and his apparent concentration, and thought it best to leave him be. She placed the food down quietly, and left in the same way she had come.

If she had disturbed Harry, however, he would have been drawn out of the trance like state with his mind, body and soul intact – he would have become cautious for the future, which would have made him seek out Remus, who would have then coached him. Harry would have transformed into a beautiful panther a few months later and Remus would have gifted him with the Marauder name Claw.

This did not happen, however, and Harry fell into unconsciousness when the battle of dominance amazingly halted to a draw. It was actually beneficial that Harry was unconscious for the next part. His mind, body and even his soul were melding together with that of the panther. The two separate beings were doing the best they could to merge together and keep their human vessel from dying in the process.

So they bargained, for a long while, and Harry became irreparably changed forever.

The pain, had he not been unconscious, would have been unbearable. In fact, it would have made him pass out, anyway. Except he would have screamed like a Banshee first, attracting attention.

Instead, he stayed blissfully unconscious for the rest of the night and, when he woke up in the early hours of the morning, he didn't notice anything different at first. All he thought was that he was very hungry, and that he was glad there was food there.

Even if the food was cold soup and vegetables with no discernable meat – no fish! – the new Harry ate it anyway. It was then he noticed another creature in the attic with him. He vaguely recognised the beast as Buckbeak, and gave a sketchy bow, and the magical creature gave an equally unsure nod of the head back. Harry, sure that his back wouldn't be feeling any sharp claws when he turned, left the attic for a stroll around the house.

It was there, away from the relative safety of the attic, that the new –maybe improved – Harry noticed his new state.

And even then, he would not have noticed it if Kreacher hadn't had popped next to him, startling Harry. The hybrid had lashed out in fright and surprise, his fingers suddenly turning claw like. Needless to say, it was a messy end for the old elf. It was a fitting tribute to Sirius, Harry decided, since his animagus transformation hadn't worked. And, in a slightly ironic end, Keachers head had finally been severed. But his head was too disfigured to ever be displayed.

Harry continued through the house and amused himself by playing with his new claws. It was not, as he had earlier thought, that each one of his fingers had turned completely into a claw. Rather, he still had the joints in his fingers, but his fingertips had hardened and sharpened, turning them into claws. The phenomenon started just before finger nails did and, had Harry been bothered to check, he would have found that his nails were now also unbelievably hard and pointy.

The good thing about the fifteen year old playing with his nails was that he had successfully resisted the urge to bat the dismembered house elfs head around.

Harry continued to walk around, occasionally using his new claws to make little scratches in things, until he decided that he needed to use the lavatory.

Walking into the nearest bathroom that wasn't attached to a sleeping persons room, Harry happened to pass a mirror. Glimpsing himself in his peripheral vision, Harry immediately froze and walked back to gaze at himself in the mirror.

The first thing Harry noticed was that he was wearing no glasses; he had not noticed the lack of the familiar weight until he was visibly presented with it. And his vision was actually better than it was with the glasses. The second thing Harry noticed was, following that line of thought, his eyes. Harrys left eye had retained its startlingly green colour, while the right eye had taken on the feral yellow of the panther.

Actually, looking closer at the colour, Harry thought it looked a bit like the colour a birds eye would have.

The third thing that Harry noticed about his new self was that his pupils had become slitted like a cat, and the fourth thing was that his hair was different. It had gotten darker, shinier and thicker. Running a clawed hand through his hair, Harry found that it felt like fur. Long, shaggy, ear length fur, but fur nonetheless.

As he was running a hand through his hair, Harry noticed his fifth change. The tip of Harrys right ear was black; the colour of his hair. Turning his head, and pushing his ear forward, Harry was able to see that, yes, from the tip of his ear and running into his hair, he had black fur. It was the same with his other ear.

Heaving a sigh, Harry sat down on the closed lid of the toilet; all thoughts of using it had been driven from his head. Harry decided that, while everyone else was asleep still he should check out all the changes to his body. Stripping down, and thankful that there was no one here to watch him shred his clothes with his bare fingers, Harry looked at himself in the mirror.

Apart from a few new scars which the panther had given him in the fight for domination, there wasn't much going on. He looked the same. Bending down, Harry inspected his toes. They were also clawed. Standing back up, Harry moved to the shower. He noticed, kind of, that he seemed to move differently.

Smoother, kind of?

Harry decided that, in the face of claws, furred ears, changed eyes, improved vision and fur for hair, the way he walked wasn't really important. He turned on the shower, sticking a hand under the water to test the temperature. It was an agreeable temperature, so he stepped in. The shower was quite uncomfortable. He wasn't quite sure if he liked it or not. He appreciated getting clean, running the soap over his chest, but he had a feeling a bath would feel better.

He had a feeling he would be going out into the rain anytime soon. His tail flicked in annoyance.

Maybe he would go out into the rain. He'd like it bef- wait.

Tail? Harry tilted his head to the side in confusion. He didn't have a tail, so it could not have flicked in annoyance. Sure that it was just his mind playing tricks on him, Harry looked over his shoulder and expected merely to see his pale rump. Instead there was a black fur tail that started just above his arse and ended just above his ankles.

Harry wondered how he'd missed it in his initial physical inspection. Maybe he was just stupid.

Harry took the black furred appendage gently into one hand and stroked the wet fur. He looked to the shelf in the shower, unsure as to what he should grab. Soap? Body wash? Shampoo? Harry eventually decided that shampoo would be the best bet, and lathered his new tail with a cinnamon scented shampoo, before rinsing and giving his hair the same treatment.

Half an hour after he'd first jumped into the shower, Harry hopped out, grabbing a towel and drying himself quickly. Grabbing his ruined clothes, Harry wandered out into the apparently spare bedroom and opened the wardrobe. The cat hybrid soon realised it wasn't a guest room – it was Sirius' old room.

Harry wasn't sure what to do about the revelation. Part of him wanted to curl up into a ball and sulk and bitch and grieve and howl out his misery. The other half wanted to break down and break things. Instead, Harry grabbed a loose robe from the closet, threw it over his shoulders and hopped into Sirius' old bed, careful not to hurt his tail, and went to sleep.

Physical transformation sapped a lot of physical strength, especially when the body was preparing for one last change. The best thing was, having double checked his body after the sudden appearance of the tail, Harry wouldn't think to check again for quite some time. He was, quite literally, the last person he know to find out that his ears had migrated to the top of his head and become panther like.

His faint of surprise really would amuse Dumbledore.

Remus led Dumbledore through Grimmauld Place and up to Sirius' room. Dumbledore had apparently loaned Sirius something and was now in need of it back. Remus had used it as an excuse to go into Sirius' room. He hadn't been there since before the death of the last true Black. Even though Narcissia, Bellatrix and Andromeda were still alive, they were not 'true' Blacks. Their mother, you see was not a Black like their father was, unlike Walburga and Orion Black, who were cousins and produced the last true Blacks.

Opening the door, Remus was shocked to see Harry – and smell something only vaguely like what Harry smelt like. He smelled more like cat and cinnamon and less like vanilla. Walking over to the bed, Remus ripped the covers off to what had happened to Harry. Upon seeing the naked, under aged boy, Remus had dropped the covers and stepped back a bit, blushing slightly.

But then, he tilted his head as something he'd seen registered.

A tail?

No, preposterous.

Dumbledore walked up, and he gently shook Harrys shoulder. Oddly coloured eyes flicked open, and he stretched, arching his back in a distinctly feline gesture. He sat up, the bed sheets pooling in his lap, and a clawed finger scratched absently at the side of his head, where his ear should have been. Ears, cat ears, were perched on the top of his head.

"Professor, Remus?" He asked, tired, even as his eyes assessed them both for and predatory danger. The wolf was dangerous, but he wasn't threatening. The old one smelt like power and magic.

Dumbledore walked beside him, gazing down on the tail, which was obviously attached to the now cat like teen.

"Harry?" Remus asked uncertainly, and a lazy head swivelled to look at the werewolf. Remus was glad to see Harry green eyes, and walked forward to his honorary godson. Harry continued to stretch, unconcerned that he was naked. Why should he be? He was not in danger, and the sheets were getting hot.

"What happened?" He asked, and Harry shrugged, standing. He explained, and a smile split Dumbledores face.

"That's simply amazing. I had come here, in hopes of retrieving my old Play Wizards," He ignored the shudder of Remus and grimace of Harry, "And I think I'll tell you some wonderful new now, rather than tomorrow. Because of the broken prophecy orb, the prophecy no longer exists. Therefore, I shall be able to defeat Voldemort without your help. Without the prophecy, there is no need to include a fifteen year old such as yourself. Even better, I've decided to give you a vacation to apologise for how much stress you must have been under."

Harry tilted his head to the side, turning his naked body to the older men, and blinked.

"I'm going to let you go world hopping!" The eccentric old man claimed, and Harry let out a confused noise.

"What?" This was Remus, who was also thoroughly confused.

"Well, I'm letting him go to different dimensions and worlds, where he won't be known so that he can have a vacation. I could have sent him to the past, but then there's the whole trouble about not revealing the future – now he won't have to worry! It'll be marvellous. Pop some clothes on, grab your wand, and head down stairs." The odd old man dragged Remus out of the room, and Harry searched through Sirius' wardrobe, not in the least concerned by Dumbledores announcement.

His excuse was magic. Having not long been exposed to the culture, and thus not knowing how it was thought impossible to do what Dumbledore had just proposed, he chalked it up to magic. In fact, it was his faith in magic and ignorance about the impossibility that would allow him to travel from world to world.

The tailed boy, however, was unimpressed with Sirius' wardrobe. There were either robes, or silk shirts and leather pants. Harry didn't want to wear robes, as he would be going to a different world where robes, probably, weren't worn.

So he grabbed the leather pants and pulled them on, wincing when the action pained his tail. Taking off the pants, he made a hole, and carefully threaded his tail through, before zipping the tight leather up and making himself a mental note to not forget the appendage again.

Throwing on a shirt, Harry went upstairs to get his wand and hurried back down.

Remus started when they made eye contact, having not noticed the yellow eye. The wereweolfs amber eyes had been too focused on the fact that Harry had claws, cat ears, a tail and was naked.

"Are you ready, Harry?" he asked, and Harry nodded.

"Maybe you should have a drink first? And don't worry, I'll tell everyone where you've disappeared to. I hope you have fun, my boy." Harry smiled at the kind old man, and at Remus as well, as he drank the water.

"Thank you Headmaster. See you later Remus." He said, and Dumbledore waved his wand at Harry, mumbling in a long dead language. An odd coloured light, not quite yellow but not any other colour either, erupted and engulfed Harry, who felt a pleasant tickling sensation wrap his body. Before he passed out, Harry rather thought that it was the best form of magical transportation.

xxx

_What world do you want him to jump into first? I'm open to suggestions. As in, I'll literally do anything as long as I know the story/series/whatever. And I know a lot of series'._


	2. Sky High

_Okay I know I asked for suggestions but, really, I'm very wary of FF. Net not letting me upload any more chapters to this story, either, and so have taken the first choice away from whoever is going to be reading this. Not really sorry, because this is fun. Also, this chapter contains a slash pairing. You know the drill. Welcome to Sky High._

-…—

Harry was very disoriented. He had never jumped worlds before, so it was an understandably disorienting experience. He imagined that, once he got used to the sensation, he would stop being disoriented. And realised that he was Harry Potter, and so not that lucky. Looking around, nothing seemed too out of the ordinary. It just looked liked a place from a movie or something. Maybe a school or something? Harry stood up, a bit shakily, and brushed himself off. He didn't want to ruin his only pair of clothes, no matter how much it looked like he was about to go out.

Harry could feel his tail swishing out behind him as he walked, the new appendage foreign but feeling as natural as any other part of his body. Harry stared at the sky a bit as he walked, it was beautiful – but the clouds seemed really close. There was something wrong with this picture. With where he was. His clawed fingers curled into fists and relaxed again, before Harry subconsciously repeated the action.

Looking around, Harry decided that he should get as far away from 'here' as possible, even if he didn't know where 'here' was. The hairs on the back of his neck had risen, his instincts were screaming and everything in his body point to the conclusion that something was not right _and_ something bad was about to happen.

Naturally, Harry walked faster.

He heard somebody shout something, but it was indistinct and Harry wasn't in the mood to be done trespassing. Harry focused on his walking, noticing that he'd probably not sashayed his hips this much before he'd merged with his inner animal, and placed one foot in front of the other. Except when he tried to put his foot down, there was no ground to stand on. Harry threw his body weight back, trying as hard as he could to _not_ fall into whatever gaping abyss he'd tried to step off.

And then arms were tucked around his waist and Harry was being tugged back. Harry got a glimpse of the 'gaping abyss' and realised he could see … houses? A suburban area? He almost fell into suburbia? Now, if Harry hadn't wanted to fall down there before, this would've been enough to knock sense into his head.

Harry was not a fan of suburbia.

"Hey! Are you alright?" The voice was deep, but there was a bounce to the mans words that reminded Harry of the Creevy brothers. Always happy and bouncing and those perpetual smiles… but the guy had just assisted Harry, so he wasn't complaining. Harry looked up into the eyes of his kind of saviour (because, honestly, Harry would've fallen safely on his arse, maybe a foot dangling over the edge. All this guy did was save him from hurting his tail.)

"Thank you for your assistance." Harry said, giving a brief smile to the man he didn't know, before quickly extricating himself from his grasp. Once more Harry smoothed out his clothes, ignoring the way that every single wrinkle disappeared as soon as he touched it, before looking up again. At almost sixteen, Harry had yet to hit his major growth spurt. He was barely taller than Hermione, so he wanted that growing done _soon._ So yes, he did have to look up at the brunette.

His hair was a bit shorter than Harry's, curling around his ears, his eyes were light brown and, for some reason, he was wearing the colours of the Union Jack. In his peripheral vision, Harry could see several people hurrying towards them. He seemed to been ignorant of their approach but he was completely aware of every living thing near him.

Also, awkwardly, he knew exactly how long it would take for the person standing in front of him to bleed out if he ripped out his jugular with his teeth. Unconsciously, Harry realised that he was rubbing his tongue between his teeth, and that it was starting to bleed from the rough treatment. So, alright, raise your hand if you think having thoughts about ripping about a jugular with your teeth is just the _teensiest_ bit creepy.

Harrys hand twitched with the urge.

"Ah, I'm Will Stronghold. Why'd you just try to walk off the edge of the school? I mean, I've never seen you around before, but I'm sure that whatever it is isn't worth trying to kill yourself." He looked a lot awkward, and a bit like a kicked puppy. He was one of those genuinely nice people – one who couldn't imagine the idea of self inflicted harm, especially of the suicide type. Harry had been like that once, he was pretty sure, but school, the Wizarding World, the Dursleys and Voldemort had beat the shit out of that Harry and left him to die on the side of the road of life, somewhere.

"Hello Will, I'm Harry. I was not trying to kill myself. I promise. I just did not realise that this school, apparently, floats." AS much as Harry wanted to tell Will about all the things that would be worth jumping for, Harry didn't want to break the boy. Life, he was sure, would take care of that. There was a look of missed relief and confusion on the boys face, and Harry wondered when he'd become so cynical.

"That's great! But how did you not notice the school you attend floats?" He queried and Harry chuckled.

"I don't go to school here. I just woke up here. The first thing you think of when you wake up somewhere strange is not, surprisingly, a floating school." The people were within ear shot, now, and Wills brow furrowed.

"I don't understand." Will said, his eyes flicking up to Harrys head, and then to his tail, still flicking in slight agitation, and finally back up to his eyes.

"Maybe you could explain to everyone, then, how you came to be here." The woman had black hair and wore a white suit and a stern look. Harry turned to her, looking at the people gathered with her for a few seconds, before turning his attention back to her. They appeared content to let her talk to him, and not a single one was poised to attack.

"I don't know the exact mechanics of it but when I was walking around before, I was at home, when I woke up, I was … over there." Harry pointed to the patch of crushed grass that signified the place he'd woken up in.

"I don't know what knocked me out or how I came to be here. Where are we?" Harry told not one lie. He had no idea of the specifics of dimensional travel. She eyed him for a few seconds, measuring him and his words, before nodding.

"You're in Maxville, specifically at Sky High." Harry looked at her, one fine eyebrow raising slowly.

"Sky High. Not cliché in the slightest." Harry said, before smiling pleasantly, not particularly caring at the fact that the tips of some of his teeth had flecks of blood from his tongue. The woman noticed, and her smile hardened once more.

"My name is Principal Powers." She held out her hand. Harry ignored it. Shaking hands probably wouldn't be a good idea until he figured out how to get along with his claws. It was a miracle his clothes were tear free. Harry held up a hand and wiggled his fingertips at her.

"I'm Harry, and shaking hands with me can be a tad dangerous." She took in his claws, and nodded before moving to the side and gesturing for him to start towards the school.

"We'll talk more in my office. Mr. Stronghold, Mr. Peace, Miss Williams. I don't know what you're doing out of your classes, but I'm sure you are missed. Would you mind making sure they get back, Boomer?" She asked the man, who Harry had just noticed was wearing oddly short shorts, who nodded and shepherd the kids towards a side building, while Harry was guided towards the main entrance.

Harry turned his head and called out to Will, who was still looking at him as if Harry living was the only thing he wanted for Christmas.

"Thanks again." Harry said, and received a blinding smile in return.

-….-

Once more, Harry was on the receiving end of a smile that was filled with too much tooth and entirely too little menace. The smile was real and genuine, which was odd because Harry had only ever received smiles filled with so much tooth before a game of Harry Hunting and from Barty Crouch Junior.

Principal Power, upon somehow prying the fact that he had no parents and his legal guardian had just died (like hell he would tell her about the Dursleys, no matter how good she had proved to be with subtle interrogation techniques), had arranged for enrolment in her school and temporary placement with the Strongholds, who were apparently upstanding members of the normal and superhero community.

And gee, didn't that just make the little boy in him hard.

And wow, wasn't that the best way in the world of expressing that sentiment.

After Harry had given up on his hopes of his parents coming to save him, he'd turned his attention to superheroes. Wonder Man, Ghost Rider, The Incredible Hulk, Hawkeye, U.S. Agent, Namor the Submariner and the Human Torch – ironically an android. All comics scavenged from Dudley, many were decades old and scavenged from the attic and Vernon Dursleys old collection.

At least they had an excuse for not helping him - saving the world was more important.

The school he was in was filled with future superheros, and he was being sent to live with real superheros. Which actually explained a lot about the blinding smile and the whole genuinely nice with no ulterior motives thing.

But the best part about this new world, he felt, was that Principal Powers didn't think he was fifteen. He was, apparently, almost seventeen and, as such, would be in classes with Will Stronghold. Harry had no idea how she'd come to the conclusion that he, Harry Potter, was almost seventeen, but he wasn't about to argue. Apparently he was now in his second last year of schooling. A … junior? Maybe?

Didn't matter, really, he hadn't been in conventional schooling since before he turned eleven. He'd fail the classes, but it wasn't his home world so he didn't really care. Harry had a lot of questions about the whole different dimensions thing (which he really, really should've asked before he'd agreed) but there were no eccentrically dressed wizards around, so Harry leashed his rare burning desire for knowledge (but always insatiable desire for answers) and followed Will to the buses.

"… and I'll introduce you to my friends on the bus, we all catch the same one, except for Warren but that's because he's a Senior and lives in a completely different direction to us. My parents won't be there when we get home, but I think Mum said she'd have snacks ready by the time we get there." Harry nodded, and Will continued to gush about things Harry didn't really care about. His mind was slightly distracted from all the stares he was getting.

Come on!

They were all kids with powers! With no Boy Who Lived thing, surely he should be normal, fit into the normal, or quasi-normal in this case, world of the super people and not stared at!

But, apparently, tails weren't common. (He would black out momentarily on the bus ride home, having caught his reflections – and his ears – but no one would notice, and Harry sure as hell wouldn't point it out.) Will didn't seem to notice his discomfort or the people staring at Harry, and continued to ramble about Magenta and Zach and Ethan and Layla.

Harry hoped that Will was dating Layla because, from that tone of voice, the boy had it bad. He'd probably mentioned already if they were dating, but Harry hadn't been listening. They approached the buses, and Harry realised he'd never been on a bus. Surely, the Knight Bus didn't count. It was large and yellow and so obnoxious Harry was reminded of the Knight Bus, once more. The bus doors were open and Harry followed Will in. The bus driver barely spared him a glance, at first, but then the man lifted his head from his book and followed Harry down the aisle. And his eyes better have been watching Harrys tail, or else Harry was going to file a complaint.

Sitting down next to Will, he smiled at Wills friends. A red headed girl smiled back, and Harry was sure that she and Will had practiced together as children. She was introduced as Layla, and Harry was not surprised. Next came Magenta, who gave him the most painful grimace of a smile, and Harry decided he liked her. Then came Zach, who was very … bright. Just not in the conventional two plus two is four kind of way. In the two plus two equals a pencil so I can gouge out my bloody eyes, kind of way. Ethan was introduced last, and he was wearing orange. Harry had never seen anybody orange to that extent before.

It was not refreshing, in the least.

They talked for a few minutes, Harry mainly just evading questions about his life, before Magenta pointed out his crisp British accent. Harry was about to reply (and maybe lie a bit) but then Will told him to turn around. And then Harry was made so unbelievably uncomfortable. Sitting facing the wrong way in his seat had been good for his tail. Sitting facing forwards, with what looked like rollercoaster safety bars strapping him in, was not.

Walking off the bus half an hour later, slightly nauseous, Harry reached around to massage his tail. It was all kinked up. Harrys ears were flat against his hair, and his claws were much more of a hindrance than a help. Will and Layla watched him, with no little amusement, as he grumbled about the bus trip, contorting his body in a way that probably should have been physically possible to reach all of his tail.

"Come on Harry, I'll show you my house." And Harry was walked home by the most sickening couple in existence. Their hands were clasped, and they talked with pet names and occasionally a slightly slurring of the words that almost bordered on cooing and slight baby talk. They reached Wills house and Harry found that Layla lived next door.

Harry knew that spending an inordinate amount of time with the deplorable duo was in his near future.

Why couldn't he be sent to a world filled with fighting and action. Or, at the very least, someone for him to snuggle with – without all the cooing and giggling – and with much more heavy petting and rutting. Hey, he was not yet sixteen – leave him alone. He can be as hormone ridden as he liked, because there was absolutely nothing to be done about releasing that sexual tension in this world. Maybe in the next world he wouldn't be a school student forced to cohabit with the boy wonder and his lovey dovey little fern. And Merlin, that was so creepy he'd never be able to look at shrubbery again.

But he was Harry Potter, and he was not that lucky.

-...-

But damn if Warren Peace didn't look sexy in leather.

Harry had been introduced to the older teen, and was glad that no one knew him well enough to know that that flick of his tail meant he was extremely interested in the man. Actually, Harry didn't even know how he knew that was a tail flick of lust. Maybe the fact that he was having a hard time maintaining eye contact with the eighteen year old hero, and that the last time he'd felt like this, Charlie Weasley had smiled at him.

Harry was, again, grateful that no one had picked up on his fifteen year oldness. Because then he wouldn't have a ice creams chance near Dudley during summer in Surrey. The man controlled fire, Harry could feel his body heat from more than a foot and a half away. Harry had always been a fan of warmth, and now he was part jungle cat, well he just wanted to curl up in a tempting patch of sun and sleep the day away.

Or curl around Warren Peace and do something decidedly not innocent.

And yesterday he was bitching about not having anyone to call a fern! Okay, he would never call Warren Peace a fern, probably because the man looked like he would char grill Harry is the teen tried. A number of decidedly illicit thoughts raced through his mind as he let the hyper babble of Will wash over him, occasionally broken up by the deep timbre that was Warren Peace.

Will must've noticed that he'd zoned out, because a hand suddenly waved in his face. Harry was startled, jerking back quickly, Harry would forever be embarrassed by his next movement. Lips curled back, sharp teeth bared, Harry fell back to his instincts and hissed at Will, one clawed hand coming up in a way that meant he was readying for a strike. There was a seconds lapse before Warren chuckled, and then Will laughed as well.

And then Harry blushed, lowering his arm.

Okay, acting like a wild animal in front of Warren Peace when it was not some kinky role play, not cool. Hissing and almost taking a swipe at his temporary housemate? Not nice. Instinct? Unfortunately. But still, they shouldn't be laughing at him. Harry glared, and his bottom lip jutted out slightly in a pout as he crossed his arms, careful of Sirius' silk shirt. His clothes had been washed the previous night, even though Will had tried to lend his own this morning, it hadn't worked out.

Apart from the fact that they were ill fitting, Harrys claws caught in ways they never seemed to in Sirius' clothes. Harry had apologised immensely for shredding Wills clothes like that. Then a bell rang, once and then another extremely short trill, and people started moving through the hallways with slightly more purpose, but not much.

"Save the Citizen!" Will said, bouncing down the hallway and forgetting Harry. Of course, the patriotic boy would be one of the only ones to surge towards gym, wherever it was. Warren looked at him, and Harry struggled a blush. A smirk spread over Warrens face, and Harry knew he'd failed in the fight.

"So, you're part cat." Harry sniffed, the two of them walking slowly down the hallway.

"Black panther, if you must know." Warren looked at him, eyes taking in the raven black hair (fur, if you wanted to get technical) and then the lily white skin.

"I thought that the skin colour of black panthers was a mixture of blue, black, grey and purple?" He asked, and Harry raised an eyebrow.

"I thought that fire was supposed to be hot." Harry said, and Warrens lips quirked in a smirk.

"Oh Kitty, I saw you watching me earlier." Harry wasn't sure whether to blush or scowl, and so did both.

"Don't call me Kitty." Harry warned him, and Warren said nothing. They continued walking to the gym in silence, Warren opening the door for Harry, his body angled in such a way that Harry hat to physically brush past him to enter. And, okay, to be fair not only was Warrens body attractive, but his body heat probably singed Harry a bit. Walked in behind Harry, Warren leant closer to him, his lips brushing Harrys ear and Harrys tail brushing his legs.

"I was watching you too, Kitty." And then he walked over to the standings, Harry practically turning red in his wake, before the wizard decided that hey, you know what? This was his vacation time. He wasn't going to be here forever, so he was going to enjoy the time he had in this world. And if, maybe, Warren wanted to help him in his enjoyment, then the pyrokinetic could certainly do so.

Harry followed Warren to the stands, sitting just a tad too close than was probably socially acceptable, but Warren just gave him a knowing smirk and leant back a bit, leaning against the empty row behind him in a way that angled his body _just so_. Harry saw many appreciative looks thrown Warrens way, Harrys mismatched gaze the most frequent to rake over the relaxed body and, if anyone had asked, Warren would have said the most welcome.

-..-

Okay to tell you the truth, Harry hadn't really explored what he could do with his newly minted 'I'm kind of an animagus but mostly just a freak' card. Sure, his ears almost automatically swivelled to catch was seemed like every bloody sound within a five mile radius (which, in a school, was a hell of a lot) and that he had claws and a kind of cool tail now – but facing two 'villains' with superpowers of turning into a hulking mass of bloody _rock_ and … was that a laser – from his eyes? Oh, okay, yeah – he could totally do this.

For the love of fuck, he didn't want to be down here.

At least he had protective gear. Kind of.

Turning towards his partner, he wondered what her power was. She'd been picked by the opposition, which didn't really give Harry much hope. She smiled a bit sheepishly, before turning into a ball and back again. She gave a apologetic shrug, and Harry chuckled.

"I'm pretty sure this all cosmetic, mate, so we're even." He told her quietly, and held out his hand for her to shake it. She did, and then the buzzer went, signalling that it was the start of the game. Watching the 'struggling' doll of a citizen, Harry wondered if they'd ever used real citizens, and kind of hoped they'd lost often – if they were stupid enough to volunteer.

The two 'heroes' stood, a bit awkwardly, and the crowd started to boo them. Harry flipped them off, while the two villains just laughed.

"Heroes! If you don't try and save your citizen – I'll give you a week of DETENTION!" He screamed the last word, visible sound waves travelling towards them. His partner turned into a ball and bounced off the walls. Harry, for obvious reasons, couldn't do that. Instead he was blown off his feet. Luckily he contorted his body enough, though, that he landed lightly and gracefully on all fours. He stood up and glared at the gym teachers.

Harry could use his wand, but it was actually in the bag he'd been lent at the moment. After all, why would he need it? No matter how humiliating this could get, introducing magic to a foreign world could be disastrous.

"Come on Harry!" Both Will and Layla yelled from the stands and Harry nodded, sighing. Might as well see what he could do. Harry tried to the obvious approach. He walked straight up to the whirring machine of death and spiky things, and looked at the squeaking dummy. Suddenly he felt compelled to save her…! Not really. The voice it used to cry out was annoying, and Harry was really trying to get over his saving people thing.

A laser beam hit him on his arse, and Harry span around, ears back and eyes narrowed.

"Oh, that's not appropriate behaviour. I'm gonna have to confiscate those." Harry told him, before starting towards the teen with promise of payback in his eyes. The kid shot a beam at his feet, hoping to trip Harry up. Our furred hero merely started to run on all fours, reaching his intended target faster than he would have otherwise. His sharp nails glinted in the light as he gracefully propelled himself upright, arm coming up to strike (somewhere in the area of his eyes) and he was thrown away by the rock guy.

Harry flipped in the air once more, wondering if he should run away and become an acrobat or a gymnast, and landed on his feet, against the wall that might have been made of plexiglass. Or maybe plexiplastic, or maybe something cheap and school like. Harry had his feet on the ground once more, and the ball girl suddenly appeared next to him. Harry remembered that they should probably save the citizen and whispered his plan to her. She nodded and turned into a ball, Harry kicking her towards the dummy.

Harry quickly distracted their opponents, however, by racing towards them again, dodging the laser beam blasts and easily keeping his balance even as fists of rock pounded at the floor, sending shock waves through the wooden ground.

And then Harry was clambering up the large rock surface, also known as Larry, apparently, his sharp fingers easily finding purchase. The teen cried out in pain, Harrys fingers digging in and his friends laser shots hitting his body not bringing him any form of pleasure. A buzzer sounded, however, and Harry back flipped off Larry, landing on his feet, and smiling at his hero partner with a dummy on the floor by her feet.

Harry high fived her as he walked past, and back up into the stands. He quickly rid himself of the protective plates, throwing them onto a pile, and he straightened his clothing as he walked up to where his group of current acquaintances sat. They all congratulated him, except Warren. The supposed bad boy hothead merely nodded to him. It was while everyone was enthralled in the next game that he spoke.

"Kittys got claws." He noted, looking at the sharpened points that were supposedly finger tips.

"And I bite." Harry promised. Warren leant towards him a bit, raising an eyebrow.

"I'll hold you to that, Kitty." He smirked and reached up, tweaking one of Harrys cat ears. The reaction that Harry had was unexpected for both parties. Almost every bone of Harrys body melted at the touch, and a slight noise could be heard coming from the back of Harrys throat. Harry would, if ever asked, flat out deny that it was a moan. Warren swore, up and down, that Harry had moaned, shifted closer and tilted his head so that Warren had better access to his ear.

We, of course, are aware that Warren Peace is a liar and, obviously, Harry would never do anything like that.

Except that, by the end of that game of Save the Citizen, Harry was curled into Warrens side, and the now smirking pyrokinetic was rubbing Harrys ears, a gentle purr rumbling from his chest that Warren could feel against his side more than hear. Will, completely enthralled by the people below, didn't notice. Ethan melted into a puddle, Zach started to glow faintly, a blush staining his cheeks, Layla giggled and Magenta raised an eyebrow, smirk on her lips.

Later than afternoon, while Mr and Mrs Stronghold are out saving the world, Layla drags will outside to talk to the plants. Warren looks across the empty lounge room to Harry, and there is complete stillness for all of two seconds before the two meet in the middle of the room. Because, honestly, Harry isn't the only hormone ridden adolescent in the room.

And Warren found he had a soft spot for cat boys who could contort their bodies, land on their feet and – goddamnit – could purr when they sucked him off.

Will had snuck back inside for a few seconds, to make sure his best friend and new room mate were getting along. He'd distracted Layla – she didn't want him going back in there, for some reason – and soon found out why his Girlfriend should never, ever be obeyed. For at least six months, Will wouldn't sit on the lounge. He insisted it be completely cleaned twice and then, just to make sure, he finally convinced his mother to get it upholstered.

Neither of them noticed Will intrude, and Harry wouldn't have care anyway. This was his vacation, damn it, and there wasn't going to be anyone telling him what he could or could not do. No Dursleys, no Hermione, no rules. Warren would have ignored Will anyway because, really, the kid was a prude. They were only mostly naked, after all, and not going at it in the truest sense of the word.

Harry got his heavy petting and rutting. Afterwards, neither felt awkward at all, and laughed and joked until Layla and a traumatised Will wandered back in. Mutual attraction was something Harry was not used to, and it was nice. Actually, he wouldn't mind staying in Maxville indefinitely, and maybe he'd even put up with a little hand holding. Warren was a good guy, and not overly nice and smiley, which Harry appreciated.

Harry was having a good time.

So Harry wasn't too surprised, just really bloody angry, when he disappeared the next morning, the worried, panicked and astonished faces of Will, Warren and Layla all coming closer towards him before he blacked out.

He didn't even get to hold Warrens hand.

Or get his ears petted again.

Because, now that Harry had discovered a weakness, he was not letting anyone see it again.

Except maybe if he ended up with Warren again, because the man had hands like a god.


	3. XMen: The Movie

Okay, I had to do X-men. I was always gonna do it, but OHSHC was being a bitch, and then I watched an X-Men marathon. Fear not, all your suggestions are logged and I will get to them, but I've decided on a vague timeline where things will fall together. New suggestions are always welcome, and reviews (as well as alerts and faves and just plain reads) are welcomes doubly so. Throw me some horns, people!

Also, concrit is appreciated, as I've noticed upon rereading my works that I miss letters, misspell (sometimes even miss whole words) and hardly ever get around to fixing what's already been posted unless it's pointed out by somebody else. Eg: I once wrote cocks, instead of socks. My, how that changed the sentence.

Much love.

…

Harry was, upon opening his eyes, greeted with the sight of adults surrounding him. Now, Harry had never enjoyed looking up at someone, which probably had something to do with traumatising memories of his Uncle and Cousin, but it was especially unappreciated when the people staring down at him were strangers. And now that he had a tail and bloody ears, he definitely didn't like being flat on his back.

Well, that was a lie. Warren hadn't had any trouble getting Harry flat on his back.

Harry just didn't like being flat on his back, basically defenceless and surrounded by strangers.

"Hello." It was Harry that spoke first, because hopefully it would allow for him to get off the bloody ground. His poor tail was at an angle that was jus the wrong side of comfortable.

"Hello. Welcome to Charles Xaviers Institute for Gifted Children." The woman who spoke had long white hair, mocha skin and a distinct tinge to her eyes which Harry had seen in Professor Snapes.

"I'm Ororo Munroe, a teacher here. Who are you?" She held out a hand to help him up, but Harry ignored it, not wanting to hurt her by accident, and pushed himself up. He needed to find someone he could practice handshakes on.

"I'm Harry Potter. Where are we?" Taking in his accent, another woman spoke. She had red hair and, quite frankly, power in her eyes. Hidden, though, beneath something Harry might've once identified as compassion.

"Washington, America." Harry nodded slowly and looked around, the place looked expensive. Quickly he assessed the other people standing around him. A man wearing sunglasses – inside, by the way. Hint: doesn't make you look cooler – with short, dark hair and a stiff look to him, and then there was someone who wasn't actually an adult, now that Harry wasn't staring at his face upside down. More like a teenager, a few years older than Harry, with blondish hair and blue eyes.

"I'm Jean Grey." The red head said, also extending her hand, and frowning a bit when she was also rebuffed.

"Scott Summers." The man was the next to speak, and he didn't extend his hand. Harry then, of course, looked next to the teenager, who stayed silent and, if Harry was honest, a bit blank, for a few seconds before his brain kicked in.

"Oh, I'm Bobby. Bobby Drake." He gave a blinding smile, and Harry was reminded of Will Stronghold.

Come on! There can't be one in each world he visits. Please, for the love of everything in existence in all the various worlds in existence, don't let him have a disgustingly perky girlfriend. That would be too much.

"How did you get here? Bobby said that there was a bit of light, and then you appeared on the floor." Harry looked at the spot where she'd pointed, and, from the pounding in the back of his head, he'd probably hit it on the hard floor when he'd landed.

"Don't know. Half a second ago, I was eating breakfast – now, I'm standing here talking to you." They all looked at each other, well, the adults did. The teenager looked pathetically out of the loop, but content. If it was a regular occurrence for the kids to be so… vacant in this world, then Harry didn't like it.

"We should take you to the Professor, he'll sort everything out." Jean Grey said, and Harry nodded. Why not? It's not like the man could read his mind and find out he was from a different world.

..|..

Holy goddamned fucking shit, there was a voice in his head!

"Ah! Out! Get out of my head! Away! Fuck off!" Harry roared, twisting around, trying to see who was in his head at the same as physically force the man out. Harry, though now an Animagus, was still pretty shit at Occulmency. The two teachers accompanying him, Scott Summers and Jean Grey as Ororo Munroe had gone to attend to their classes, stopped.

"It's alright, Harry, that's just the Professor. He's the most powerful telepath in the world." Harry sneered at her.

"I don't care – get him out of my head. You hear me! Stay the fuck out of my head, you old bloody bastard!" Harry shouted, but was quickly stopped by a large hand on his shoulder.

"You don't have to shout, Professor Xavier is on the other side of this door." Scoot said, and Harry twisted the door handle open.

"You couldn't have waited five seconds to speak face to face? Huh?" Harry spat out, memories of Sirius going through the veil and Snape forcing himself into Harrys mind running rampant.

"Don't be rude!" Jean snapped, and Harry shot her a glare.

"No, Jean, it's quite alright. He's quite right, I should have waited until he was aware of my powers. I apologise for startling you, young man and promise that I shall not do so again without your express permission." This man, Professor Xavier, spoke calmly and Harry wanted – very much wanted – to stay disgruntled and angry, but he couldn't. The man was in a wheelchair, for heavens sake, and he did seem genuinely apologetic. Plus he'd promised never to do it again.

"Apology accepted. Sorry I freaked out." The man nodded, and then Harry was formally introduced to Professor Charles Xavier, founder of the school Harry was currently standing in, and offered a seat in the office and a place at the school. Harry was a bit wary; sure, he'd been accepted at Sky High, but that was a school for Super Heroes. This was a school for gifted children.

Harry wasn't gifted, just a cat-boy.

"I don't know Professor. I don't think I'll fit in." He chuckled, and Harry raised and eyebrow.

"Harry, this is a school for mutants, such as yourself." Harry frowned. He wasn't a mutant, he was just a freak, and he said so. In the space of a few seconds, Charles Xavier seemed to age years in his wheelchair. Harry decided to expand on his concept, so that the old man wouldn't seem so sad.

"Mutants are like super heroes, yeah? And Super heroes are cool, and can do cool stuff, and have epic adventures and save the world and wear spandex and stuff. I'm not that cool, just an abnormality. And, besides, as cool as being a super hero would be, I'm not wearing spandex." Scott chuckled.

"We don't wear spandex." Harry looked at him, taking in his stiff posture and tucked in shirt, and then tilted his head. A wolfish smile appeared on Harrys face as he continued to eye Scott.

"That's a shame." Harry said, and Scott blushed a bit, flustered, while Jean scowled at Harry. The Professor chuckled, and shook his head.

"They do wear leather, though." The man couldn't help but add, ignoring Jeans look of anger and Scotts deepening blush as Harry turned fully in his chair and eyed him like a piece of meat.

"Really." Before Harry could investigate that line of thought any more, they were steered back on course by Xavier.

"Regardless of what Scott wears, you will be welcome in this school." Harry shifted in his seat.

"I haven't been to school since I was a child, Professor. I can't do school stuff." Harry didn't think Hogwarts counted and, speaking of which, where the bloody hell was his wand? Harry couldn't feel it on him, and he didn't have it while eating breakfast with the heroes in training – which meant that it probably hadn't travelled with him.

Fuck.

"When was the last time you were in school?" Harry thought. He'd started school with Dudley, when they were five. But as Harry grew older, and as his displays of accidental magic grew more numerous, he was away from school more and more frequently. He attended for a few days, before falling 'sick' and having anywhere from a week to a month off.

"The last time I was at school constantly was when I was seven. After that it's just a few days here and there until I was ten, and then nothing." The adults in the room looked sad again, even Jean Grey who'd been glaring vehemently a second ago, and Harry couldn't figure out why. It's not like Harry had liked school anyway; he'd been isolated and alone, the teachers had been warned about him by his guardians and had disliked him.

Even stuck under his cupboard, hurting and sore, he'd liked more than school.

"That's okay, Harry, we can accommodate for your lack of schooling." Harry turned in his chair again to beam at Scott.

"Thanks. I never really liked school, though, so no big deal. Didn't really miss anything important. Calculators can do math, and I can read and write." Harry explained, before stopping because 'and I am coming first in my Defence Against The Dark Arts course' would really take too much too explain.

"What about geography, history, science - your physical education?" Scott questioned intently, and Harry laughed.

"There are seven continents, I know lots of flags, and we're in the capital of America right now. Eurovision tells me all I need to know about Europe, including the fact that Britan can't put together a good performance for anything. The Six Day war happened in 1967, between Egypt, Syria, Jordan and Israel, which was founded in 1948. The first world was happened from 1914 to 1918.

"The metacarpals are connected to the wrist bone, the wrist bone's connected to the wrist watch, the wrist watch's connected to the red thing." Harrys retelling of his scant knowledge of various subjects had, somehow, transformed into the only thing he'd ever really seen on T.V. The Simpsons. Dr. Nick had made him laugh as a child, albeit quietly, muffling his joy into his ratty shirt.

"The only real problem I have with joining your school, is that I don't have any money." Harry said after a few moments silence, during which he turned back around to the founder and headmaster.

"That's quite alright. A lot of our students are in a similar predicament, and we are able to fund them easily." Harry smiled, and Xavier rolled over to his desk, rifling through his draws and finally pulling out a piece of paper and placing it in front of Harry, along with a pen.

"If you could please fill this out for our school records, so we know how old you are and if you're allergic to anything, it would be much appreciated. I can help with anything if you have trouble." Harry looked down at the form and came across his first problem. He had absolutely no idea what to put in the 'date' space at the top of the form.

"Umm, what year is it? The last couple of years are fuzzy, and I don't really remember much of it."

"It is May, of the year 2000 A.D." Xavier supplied and Harry blinked. Fuck. He knew he was in a different world but _still_, he'd just jumped five years into the future.

"What year were you born?" He asked, and Harry replied automatically.

"1980." There was an exclamation of shock from behind him, and Harry looked at Jean Grey.

"You don't even look eighteen! I'd say seventeen, at the very most! You can't be twenty!" She cried, and Harry was torn between a scowl and agreement.

"Last I can remember, I hadn't hit my last growth spurt yet – leave me alone." Harry said, settling for defensive. Harry, looking at Jean, missed an exchange between Scott and The Professor, so that when he turned around, Scott announced that he and Jean had classes to get back to. Harry waved at school, eyeing him up and down unabashedly – and quite shamelessly as the man turned around. Until his view was blocked by a fiercely scowling Jean.

"So Harry, let's get back to the information sheet." And Harry turned around, filling the sheet out as best he could. He didn't have any allergies that he knew of, didn't know his blood type, left the guardian place blank, added his favourite food and country of birth while questioning his knew headmaster on all the current events.

Soon after that Harry was shown around by the only other person he'd met, Bobby, and shown to his room by the quickly revealed iceman.

..|..

Harry settled in well enough into the school. He didn't have many great friends, only occasionally hanging out with Bobby and his friend John '_call me Pyro_', who was like a wannabe Warren. Mainly Harry tried to catch up on his school work. Not because he actually cared about his school grade, or what the capital of Russia was. It was Moscow, though. Harry did it because Scott Summers was the teacher who'd been assigned to check on his progress.

Harry liked to present his work, completed and correct, to the very handsome Scott Summers (who was unfortunately straight and engaged to Jean Grey, who didn't like Harry at all) who would then praise him on how well he was doing.

Things got interesting, though, after a few months of being thoroughly bored with the new world.

Because, really, this world didn't even have a Warren. They had Bobby, who was like a blond Will, and John, who wasn't as bad arse or as attractive as Warren.

But then Rouge and Wolverine turned up one day, and Harry took back every mean thing he'd ever thought about the gods of this world.

"So, you're the kid that's got Summers and Jean all flustered in the staff room." Came the gruff voice of Wolverine, also known as Logan, as he walked up to where Harry was sitting. Harry looked up from the blade of grass he'd been mutilating with his claws.

"So, you're the guy who ran from the med bay naked before hitting on Scott Summers fiancée." He barked out a chuckle, before dropping down to sit next to Harry.

"How did you know about my natural state of dress?" He asked, and Harry shrugged.

"I was with this kid while he was hacking the security. He was settling a bet, about the new mutant brought in. Happened to see you in the buff." Harry didn't even bother to hide the way he raked his eyes over Wolverine. The man didn't seem to mind.

"Jean was saying about how you keep hitting on her _fiancée_." He said the word with some mocking. He didn't seem to like the teacher very much.

"Was asking the Professor why he assigned you to him, when there are so many other teachers who could do the same thing. Doesn't seem to think he should encourage your 'unnatural fascination' with Scott." But then again, he didn't seem too fond of Jean, either.

"Really? She doesn't approve of me eyeing the man she intends to marry like a piece of fresh meat? I am surprised. I had thought all those glares she sends my way were gestures of motherly compassion. How my heart breaks." Harry drawled, and the animalistic man chuckled.

"She doesn't like the way you look at her man. You like 'em thin and … wispy, then?" he said, and Harry laughed.

"Actually, I would describe Mr. Summers as lean. _Lithe_. And, apparently, he wears leather." Harry looked at Wolverine, then, eveing the leather jacket, white shirt and tight jeans appreciatively.

"And, technically, I just like 'em male." The wind blew slightly, sending a few leaves spiralling down towards them.

"No other requirements, just male? Your high standards amaze me." Harry raised an eyebrow.

"Well hung is a requirement, but you wouldn't know anything about that particular standard." Logan gave another bark of amusement.

"I'm what that standard is based on." Harry gave a coy little smile, raising an eyebrow.

"Really? Does that mean so many people were disappointed by your severe _lack_ of anything, that they made a standard, a rule, even, against it?" A smirk was all the response Harry received for a long while before Logan suddenly declared,

"I like you kid." And Harry shook his head. Technically, in this world, he was twenty. Not a kid.

"I like you too, adult." Harry felt his hair being ruffled and pouted, until the mans rough, calloused hand came into contact with a dark, furred ear. Both froze, Harry because he had been in this situation before and, goddamn, this was going to become a common thing, wasn't it, and Logan because he could smell the spike of arousal.

"Interesting." He said, taking the ear in between his fingers and gently stroking it. The fur felt nice, and Logan wasn't the least bit ashamed to say that he was turned on by the instant arousal. Well, to be fair, he'd smelt the kids arousal as soon as he'd opened his mouth and Harry had become aware of his presence.

Logan roughly twisted the ear between his fingers, and a breathy moan escaped Harrys lips.

Harry was so very thankful of the fact that he was supposedly twenty. The Professor had come up with a theory that his growth had been stunted, and that there was probably some trauma in the last few years that had distorted his memory to the point of time loss.

Harry was quite sure that, if everyone knew he was not even sixteen yet, Logan wouldn't be handling his ears in such a rough, domineering way.

"Logan!" A voice shouted out, and Harry opened his eyes, half wondering when he'd closed them, to see a teenage girl approaching them, with Bobby trailing along behind her with Pyro. She seemed unaware of the blond, who was quite obviously following her around with moon eyes.

Logan stopped his ministrations, and Harry growled a bit. Logan chuckled, and rubbed the pad of his thumb against the base of Harrys ear. His hand slipped fully out of Harrys hair as the teen approached.

"There you are, Ah've been looking all over for you." She had a southern accent, and a large smile that dimmed then she saw Harry.

"Who're you?" She said bluntly, and Harry raised a eyebrow from where he was sitting next to Logan. How rude.

"Harry." She held out her hand, which Harry noted was covered with a glove of some kind. She waited for Harry to take her hand, and Harry waited for her to announce her own name. They were at a stale mate, because Harry wasn't going to take her hand. She was a bit abrupt, but that was no reason for Harry to want to cut her hand. Harry had accidentally ripped through the canvas school bag he'd been given, and had pierced into the hard wood of Scott Summers office door by tapping it.

He didn't exactly trust some fluffy wool mittens to keep out his claws.

"And your name is…" Harry said, rolling his hands in a gesture to get her to continue the sentence.

"Ah don't think Ah want to talk to you." She sniffed, and Harry blinked. What? What the hell had he done?

"What? You're not even going to tell me your name?" He asked, and she shook her head.

"You shouldn't be so prejudiced. Just because you've got stupid cat ears and a tail doesn't give me a right to snub you, so you shouldn't be so rude as to do it back." She said, and Harry blinked a few times again.

"What? I'm sorry, I must have missed something back during the silence between where I introduced myself and you failed to do the same." Harry said. Where had that come from? How was Harry being prejudiced? Sure her accent was a bit twangy, and her gloves were stupid, but Harry hadn't said anything about that.

"Logan, I'm gonna go back inside. Come and find me later, kay?" She ignored Harrys comment, and turned around, Bobby and Pyro waving at Harry, who waved back, before they went after her.

Subtle.

"Do you have any idea what that was about?" Harry asked his companion, who raised an eyebrow.

"You didn't shake her hand." He finally said, after it became apparent that Harry, actually, truly, had no idea what he'd done to offend the teen.

"I don't shake anyones hand. I don't want to cut people with my claws. She probably wouldn't know that, though, being new. I only ever shake Piotr's hand, because he can turn into metal, and the scratches in it disappear. Or heal. Or something. I don't know how it works." Harry said.

"Shake my hand." Wolverine said, and Harry narrowed his eyes.

"Why?" Was he a closet masochist? Or a not so closet one?

"Just do it." Harry huffed, holding out his hand, before pausing.

"It's not my fault if you get hurt." Harry warned, before grabbing the older mans hand in a firm grip, his claws slashing against Wolverines skin as they shook. Harry pointedly looked at the blood on his claws and Wolverines wrist. The man smirked as he wiped away the blood to reveal smooth skin.

Harry blinked once, twice, before grabbing Wolverines wrist and pulling it closer to himself, using the backs of his fingers to explore the unbroken, unscarred skin. Once all the blood had been wiped away, onto Harrys skin actually, Harry stopped for a second, before plunging his fingers into the soft flesh of Wolverines wrist.

Removing his fingers, Harry leant down and watched as the wounds healed before his eyes.

Letting go of the once more bloody wrist, Harry lifted his own fingers to his mouth, absentmindedly indulging the whims of his not so inner beast and licking away the blood.

"That's brilliant." Harry said, ignoring the slight cuts his lips gained from his fingertips being so close to his mouth. Logans eyes, however, were riveted to Harrys bloody mouth. Before he could say anything, or grab Harrys ears again, a large figure approached them.

"Harry, I wanted to know if you would like to help me for my art project?" Piotr, also known as Colossus, asked. Harry looked up and smiled at the Russian student.

"Sure, Piotr." Harry looked to Wolverine, giving him a huge grin, the slight reddish pink tinge on his sharp teeth going straight to Wolverines groin.

"I'm going to practice shaking your hand later." Wolverine grinned back, a decidedly darker grin.

"Any time." He said, and Harry stood up, feeling Wolverines eyes heavy on his figure. And Harry was pretty damn sure that Wolverine was not watching his tail.

..|..

Having hand shaking lessons with Wolverine – '_just call me Logan, bub_' – was actually very fun. First of all, Harry learnt how to shake someone's hand without causing any injury to the other person, and then, whilst Harry was nattering on aimlessly to Logan about something or other, Logan offered to show Harry how to use his fingers without using his claws on something else.

It wasn't long before Harry had figured out that Wolverine was very durable.

And had excellent stamina.

Another tick to the mans name was that he was very considerate and understanding. You see, Harry had accidentally skewered Logan. In several places. His back and shoulders. His upper arms. His spinal column – made sex awkward until Logan had healed himself.

Even better was that he hadn't really cared that Harry had completely ruined his sheets.

And his bed head.

And his mattress.

Okay, to be fair, Harry was a bit of a hazard during sex.

But was it really his fault if his claws extended and retracted uncontrollably? No. No it wasn't. If anything, the mattress was completely Logans fault. There had only been the tiniest little rip until Logan had decided that it would be fun to play with Harrys ears _and_ do something sinful with his hips.

Harry was only a hormone ridden cat-boy. He couldn't take that much stimulation without destruction of some kind.

And Harry was pretty sure he wasn't going to sleep in his own bed for a while. Especially since he shared a room with Piotr and Logan had gotten all delightfully domineering when Harry had cheerfully announced that he was going to shake Piotrs hand.

Which, thinking about it, probably wasn't the best thing to announce seeing as Harry had just spent the last few hours learning exactly how to '_shake hands_' with Wolverine.

..|..

"Rouge, you talk to him. He's really nice!" Bobby said, trying to convince the girl. She hadn't talked to Harry since he'd not taken her hand, and none of the other students had thought to tell her why he'd not taken her hand. She assumed it was because he was wary of her powers, and that hurt. Even among mutants, she was a freak.

"Maybe later, Bobby." She said, twisting her face from the scowl it had previously been set in.

"Ah'm gonna go see Logan." She said cheerfully, and Bobby frowned a bit. He'd never _actually_ met Logan, also known as Wolverine, but had seen Rouge interact with him when he'd been … okay, there was no way he could place a euphemism to what he'd been doing.

He'd stalked her around campus.

Plain and simple. He'd roped John into it, and had learnt her schedule and he was still finding twigs and tiny little leaves in his hair.

She'd thought that it was cute and adorable, though, and had introduced herself.

But she seemed unnaturally attached to Logan, and Bobby found that the man was a little too … wild for his tastes.

But Rouge liked him, so Bobby supposed that he should tag along and introduce himself. Besides, what else was there to do at eight on a Sunday morning?

Bobby wasn't surprised that Rouge knew where Wolverines rooms were, but he was surprised that she didn't bother to wait for a response to her knock. She swung the door open and then froze; the sound of the door going unchecked and hitting the wall made the two people in the room freeze as well.

Wolverine was naked, completely, but Bobby was thankful that he had his back to the door, though his head had turned around and was now looking at them. And Harry was there too. Bobby liked Harry, he was a bit of a solitary guy, but was always fun to hang around with. Harry was naked too, and he was pressed against the was, his legs wrapped around Wolverines waist, heels digging into the mans body.

There were large gouges in the wall where Harrys fingers had dug in.

Bobby could see Rouges mouth drop open, and Wolverine didn't know what to do. He hadn't exactly been expecting visitors to interrupt his Sunday morning sex. Luckily, neither Harry or Bobby were worried by the nudity, thought Harry was a bit upset at the interrupted sex.

"Hey Bobby." Harry said, smiling. Bobby smiled back.

"Hey Harry. Had a good night?" he cracked, and Harry laughed.

"Yeah, but he'd getting a bit predictable. Might go see what Piotr's up to later." Harry joked, ignoring the deep, possessive growl that emanated from Logans chest.

"Better make sure you don't say that around Piotr, he'll probably take you up on that." Harry nodded, chuckling.

"Well, it was nice to see you on a Sunday Bobby, but I was wondering if you'll take Rouge" Harry had learnt her name from Logan "and get the fuck out." Bobby nodded, grabbing Rouges gloved hand. She was still gaping like a fish, her eyes blinking rapidly as she tried to take in the scene.

"See you later Harry."

"Later Bobby." And Bobby shut the door, hearing the husky sound of Wolverines voice say '_predictable, huh? I'll show you predictable_,' and Harrys shriek of laughter, before he left the area and wasn't able to hear anymore, taking his crush with him.

Bobby had to reassess his earlier image of Wolverine. He was probably an alright guy if Harry liked him, and Bobby hadn't known him long enough to judge him – hell, he hadn't even met the guy. And really, if he wanted to be the father figure that Rouge was so obviously lacking in her life, then who was Bobby to say he couldn't.

After all, it wasn't like he was trying to encourage an Oedipus complex – Bobby was actually sure that there was a female equivalent of that, but Ms. Munroe hadn't taught them it yet, something about electricity – or wanted to do anything inappropriate with her.

Meanwhile, in Rouges mind, she was still confounded at the fact that Logan was _gay_, or bisexual at the very least.

And he had a very messy bedroom.

Who woulda thunk it?

..|..

After handing in his weekend homework, and giving Scott a wolfish grin to make a delightful shade of pink tinge his cheeks, Harry wandered off into Logans possessive embrace. Harry was quite sure, as his body was ravaged by the feral mutant, that he could get used to this world.

Typically, Harry disappeared on that Monday night, right out of Wolverines arms. The man had been mostly asleep, and had then been blinded by a light. When his vision had cleared, Harry had been gone.

His roar woke most of the mansion.


	4. I am The Batman

_**I have returned, of faithful minions. I have just finished high school, my HSC, and all the exams that go with it. So I shall be going to all my beautiful monsters who like to tear through my mind (my stories) and updating them. Since I don't really have snything to do, and everything creative has come rushing back, you all get updates. This is the first of many, for all my stories.**_

_**Enjoy.**_

…xx…

Upon waking up in this new world, Harry Potter discovered that he could not travel through worlds with things that were not on his body. For instance, he disappeared from his first world, involving Sky High, his first sexual encounter and Warren, with out his wand because it was in a bag he'd been given.

Once again, Harry had been caught unawares when jumping worlds (dimensions? Universes?) and hadn't been prepared. As in, he'd been naked and was, currently, at the moment, naked. In a dirty alley somewhere, which was very disgusting because, really – an alleyway? Harry supposed that he could not be lucky all the time, being set down in a place that was clean. Not that he was particularly clean at the moment.

Harry was curious, however, about living things. Harry was been positive that he'd been wrapped up so tight in Logans arms that it was almost painful to breath. The man was just a lot possessive. Harry frowned, thinking of Wolverine. He'd never see the man again, which sucked.

"What are you doing?" The deep, growled voice ripped Harry from his thoughts. It wasn't really a question, though it was posed as one. It didn't really sound like the man wanted to know. Harry slammed a hand to his mouth to muffle the scream, hissing when his sharp claws sliced into his face. And, when queried about it later, Harry was tying to restrain his primal urge to hiss and warn off the other man, not trying to restrain the most girly scream ever encountered in Gotham City.

The man was still looking down at him and, by the light reflected from the headlights from a lone, passing car, he was in black…stuff. Harry wasn't sure what the material his clothes were made out of – Harry hadn't ever seen it before.

And the mans head piece had ears – super pointy, sticky uppy ears.

Costume and a cape.

Was Harry to be forever surrounded by bloody superheroes?

Although, to be fair, this was the first man Harry had seen, with his own eyes, who wore a cape. Both Scott and Logan wore tight (oh so wonderfully tight) leather, and Harry even had the oh so arduous task of helping Logan out of his uniform. Hell, Warren didn't even wear the school sports uniform, so there was very little chance of him ever wearing a cape, even after he graduated.

The man seemed to be voluntarily wearing a cape and ears, as well as a ludicrously tight bodysuit, and even in the shadows, Harry could tell that he was probably this worlds paragon of masculinity. And _what_ a man.

Maybe Harry could bulk order those and hand them out to the various good looking men he was going to meet in his travels…?

"What are you doing?" The man repeated, his voice firmer (somehow) and darker than the first time. He reached a gloved hand towards Harry, who gave a little hiss, before blushing and scooting back.

"What am I doing? No idea, just woke up – the better question is what you're doing? I'm naked here, and you're just staring at me. Are you a pervert, pervert? Huh? Some type of public nuisance? Someone with some type of extreme fetish? But, continuing the original line of thought, I'm just sitting here. Please don't hurt me, large, giant man in a tight dominatrix costume?" Harry said, looking up at the man with his mismatched eyes.

Batman was quite sure that he'd never been in a position similar to this. And Bruce, for all his adventures, had never been staring at a naked, probably dirty, cat-boy in a disgusting alley.

There had been a flash of light and, during the witching hour, that generally wasn't good. So, naturally, he'd investigated. Dropping down silently, he'd come across a disoriented boy- teen- man?- and had watched him gain his bearings. Kind of him, since he normally didn't give his foes any chance to prepare themselves.

After startling the teen, Bruce thought he looked like a teen, the raven haired man started to babble. Never, in all his time wearing the bat suit, had he been called a dominatrix. Or a fetishist, for that matter – which was odd, because dressing up as a bat in Kevlar probably was a fetish.

"You just woke up?" Bruce asked, and Harry nodded.

"Went to sleep in bed, woke up in a dirty alley. Where are we, if you don't mind me asking, Dominatrix?" Bruce blinked once, though it wasn't visible because of his identity protecting cowl, and then narrowed his eyes.

"You don't know where we are." Bruce deadpanned. How can you wake up in Gotham and be unaware of where you are? Bruce could understand if the apartment, street or particular room was foreign, but Bruce had a feeling that the kid was talking about Gotham as a whole.

"Gotham City." Harry blinked. He'd never heard of Gotham, or its city.

"Um, could you possibly be a bit … broader in you description?" Harry asked, mind rapidly forming a back story that wouldn't get him shot, stabbed or raped in a dark, dirty alley. Not that Harry would mind having consensual sex with the man – Harry was actually surprised that the man hadn't become uncomfortable with the way Harry was staring inappropriately.

Bruce was, actually, slightly uncomfortable with the mismatched eyes constantly roving his body – and never getting higher than his shoulders. He had eyes! Even though they were hidden behind a cowl.

Was this what women felt like when he was pretending to be an irresponsible play boy?

Hmm, he might have to start looking into their eyes because he was starting to feel slightly violated – a feeling that he'd never associated with The Batman before. And besides, it wasn't as if he was even interested in their breasts. That was another reason for his playboy persona. As much as he dressed up as a bat, he was actually a fairy.

"Broader how." Bruce queried in a monotone, and Harry shrugged.

"State, location regarding the equator, Country, hemisphere, world. You know, the basic stuff. Bruce raised a concealed eyebrow as the man-teen-boy-cat tilted his head the other way, still staring unabashedly at his, er, groin area.

How was it that the younger not even fully human man was completely clothes free, and yet he was the one who felt the need to cover up.

Maybe he should stop wearing Kevlar?

He was thankful, at least, that no villains had ever eyed him up this way. Imagine that, The Joker licking his painted, scarred lips in a parody of a sexual gesture, probably making an obscene motion – just the thought almost made Bruce gag.

"Gotham City, America. How are you unaware of what country you're in?" Harry stood up and stretched, his cheeks tinging a bit when Bruce did his own looking – he wasn't even subtle, his entire head moved. Harry wouldn't have felt so uncomfortable if the man had been subtle, allowing only his covered eyes to look. And yes, Harry was aware that he was hypocritical.

"Well I just woke up here, that's how. Could you direct me, possibly, towards somewhere where I can get clothes? And maybe a homeless shelter, as I have no money." Bruce frowned. The catboy had moved, the darkness that had shadowed his face so had been chased away by the street lamps, and he was obviously no where near Bruce's age. He would hazard a guess and say he wasn't even seventeen yet. There was no way he could just let a naked minor wander the streets.

He was new to Gotham and, being as pretty as he was, there was no way he'd survive.

Bruce could not, in good conscience, allow an innocent youth to be ruined – mugged, raped, murdered.

He was supposed to protect.

But how could he help this child?

He blinked, and realised that he knew what he could do.

"I will take you to a man I know. He is kind." And with that, Bruce swooped down and threw Harry over his shoulder. It wouldn't take too long for them to get to Alfred, where he would leave the catboy and go on his way.

Harry blinked and, before he knew it, he was flung over this strangers shoulder. Naked. How awkward.

"So, what's your name?" Harry asked, testing the material with his claws. It was tough, really tough. Harry still slid his nail through the material and into the deliciously soft skin underneath. The costumed man didn't even flinch. Respect, level up.

The man was silent for a while before finally replying, in that same gravelly, deep voice that sent tingles down Harrys spine.

"I am The Batman." Bruce waited. Even though he hadn't been recognised on sight, the person he was trying to help would probably proceed to freak out. Except, as Harry was new to the dimension, not to mention the city, he had no idea who The Batman was, and as such didn't care much past the fact that, as a cat, he'd probably have fun chasing bats.

"I'm Harry. You don't think you could've chosen something creative? I mean, with that cowl you do kind of resemble a bat. Why a bat? Surely there are more terrifying animals? Like large cats –tigers, leopards, et cetera. Panthers especially." The Batman gave a snort, shaking his head lightly.

"Including yourself amongst the big cats? Because your not terrifying as much as fluffy and adorable. You take aware from the collective horror and terror of not only the big cats, but everything in your general vicinity." Harry crossed his arms and grumbled.

"Does that mean you have to be upgraded to a fluffy bunny costume?" Harry said, and Batman gave a half chuckle. How positively delightful. He hardly ever met anyone who'd backtalk him, rarely as Bruce Wayne and never as Batman – unless they were villains trying to get a rise out of him, but he didn't really think they counted. It was amusing. The kid had a lot of fire in him. He would have to remember to not be the infamous playboy around this child.

Because Bruce was an arsehole, and the kid would tell him so. And then Bruce would have to get all upset and angry and that was just not good for a relationship with the kid. Not a physical, sexual relationship, but maybe a friendship. That would be good; he didn't have many friends. He had Alfred, and he used to have Rachel, and that was it.

And Alfred would have someone else to talk to.

So Bruce dropped Harry Potter off on his balcony, and left immediately. Harry didn't think it was such a good idea. He was, after all, naked. Had that bloody bat _forgotten_ that? At least if Batman were here to introduce him, Harry could have hidden behind the larger man. But now he had to knock on some poor blokes door, in the middle of the night, completely starkers. No matter how nice the man is, Harry was pretty sure that he wasn't going to be let inside.

But Harry knocked on the glass doors anyway, the sound of his intrusion to this persons life way too loud in the silence of the witching hour. If only he had his wand, because then he could conjure something to cover himself. Alas, he did not have his wand so, when the lights in the room flickered on, Harry was standing there awkwardly, only his hands to preserve his modesty.

If Harry ever met Batman again, he was going to kick him.

-.-

The man turned out to be an older gentleman by the name of Alfred. He was English too, so Harry was slightly comforted. He hadn't realised it, but he had actually missed the English accent. Which was odd, because Harry hadn't ever really cared for it before. Alfred was actually a butler to a man named Bruce Wayne; Harry suspected that it was Alfred who he was being sent to, though, not Bruce Wayne.

Harry was very grateful to Alfred. Alfred lead him to the bathroom, where Harry had a luxurious bath – and he did enjoy it more than a shower – and Alfred proceeded to clothe him (in clothes that were, quite humorously, too big for him) and put him to bed. Harry had never received such care in his life before. Certainly not at the Dursleys, and not anywhere since then. He was, after all, old enough to see to himself. But the fact that Alfred had assisted him, well, Harry was in love.

Not in romantic love, because Alfred might've been handsome at one point, about a hundred years ago, but a plutonic, paternal kind of love. Or maybe he was just ridiculously fond of the bloke. But not in the same way that he was fond of Warren, or Logan or, hell, even the Batman's body.

And Alfred didn't even say anything about his more feline appendages.

So when Harry woke up early the next morning, he was extra careful with the clothes he put on. They didn't suffer at all, unlike Wills clothes. Harry would never regret shredding those monstrosities. The fact that Alfred must've been in his room while he was asleep didn't even worry him. Harry trotted out of the room he'd just slept in, completely awake despite the small amount of hours he'd slept for, and proceeded to ask Alfred if he was in any need of assistance.

Alfred laughed at him, and Harry pouted. Eventually, after Harry persisted, Alfred allowed him to set the table for breakfast. Harry did just that, even settling a third place for the mysterious Bruce Wayne, who Harry hadn't seen yet. About twenty minutes later, Harry got his first look of Bruce Wayne.

Stumbling through the front door of the apartment, Bruce looked like he'd just spent the night sleeping in the gutter. Or hadn't slept at all the previous night, if you get what I mean. Bruce stumbled to the table and started to practically inhale breakfast, and the mug of coffee, which was almost continuously replaced. He didn't notice Harry for at least another ten minutes. He lazily quirked an eyebrow, and Harry did the same.

"Alfred, who's the kid?" That cemented Harrys opinion that he'd been delivered to Alfred, rather than Bruce. Harry ignored the conversation between Bruce and Alfred as he stared at Bruce. There was something so familiar about the man, but Harry just couldn't pick up on it. He knew that he'd seen the man before, but just couldn't put his finger on it. It was going to bug Harry, he just knew it. And that was going to annoy him for so long.

He would have to watch (re: stalk) Bruce very carefully around the apartment until he figured it out.

-.-

Bruce, however, was slightly creeped out by the kid. He'd felt awkward standing with him as batman, being eyed up like a piece of meat, but now he was unsure about the kids mental state. Bruce was quite sure he was being stalked. In his own home. It was unnerving. Maybe taking the kid home wasn't such a good idea. Bruce crept around a corner, trying to spot if Harry was in the next room. The feeling of being watched, so avidly, in his own environment, by some kid who'd never heard of Gotham city before a few weeks ago.

Alfred was obviously having fun, though, if the quirk of his lips was anything to go by. He seemed perfectly happy to allow Harry his fun, and not tell Bruce where Harry was. Alfred was ignoring his silent pleas to know if Harry was in the room. Alfred was currently having a quiet cup of tea, and reading a book. Bruce looked around silently.

Someone had stolen every article of clothing in his wardrobe, while he was in the shower, and when he'd gone back for the shorts he'd worn to bed, they'd disappeared as well. He knew who was behind it, but why would Harry want him to walk around in only a towel?

…

Never mind, he knew exactly why Harry walked around in a towel. He felt distinctly like some animal carcass in front of a pride of lions. Honestly, how could a little kid be such a … pervert wasn't the right word, he just seemed to be studying Bruce intently. And it was weird, because sometimes his undivided attention felt purely scientific, and at other times he was so obviously being checked out. There might be a tiny part of Bruce who was flattered by the attention, but that was over ridden by the majority of his brain, which was quite aware that that Harry was a young kid.

Okay, so not quite that young, but still not old enough to be legal. And yes, Bruce was aware that in Gotham city, a person's legal age has absolutely nothing to do with anything.

Bruce warily stepped into the room. He needed coffee before he dealt with Harry. He would need to find where those clothes were, and so he would need to find Harry. Bruce could already feel his gaze. The man paused. He could literally feel Harry watching him, rather than just imagining it. Harry was in the room somewhere. But where? He was expertly hidden, Harry must've won many hide and go seek games as a child.

The only reason Bruce found Harry, was because Harry jumped out from his hiding place. And honestly, how did Harry fit behind that small table so completely, and still retain his ability to watch Bruce?

-.-

It took Harry one week and six days, exactly, to figure out why Bruce was so familiar. All it took was for Harry to see Bruce with only a towel on. Because, really, that body, and that jaw line, could not be repeated in the same world, on the same person. And if they could be, then Harry wanted to go to that world, and live in it forever. As soon as Bruce walked in, towel clad and wary, Harrys mind had connected the two pieces together. Jumping to his feet as gracefully as he could manage, Harry pointed an accusing finger at Bruce.

"You bloody bastard, you left me on the balcony naked! You wanker!" Harry crowed, before crossing his arms and glaring at Bruce. His tail whipped out from behind him and he pouted a bit.

"It was cold, and poor Alfred had to see me starkers." And with that, Harry flounced over to the table where Alfred was sitting and poured himself a cup of tea. Bruce blinked.

"What are you talking about?" He was trying to remain calm, nonchalant. Harry couldn't possible be saying what Bruce thought he was saying.

"You're Batman, you wanker, and you left me starkers on your balcony." Harry had found out he was Batman, and that was all he could think about?

"Don't try to deny it, either! No one else could pull off a costume that tight, my fluffy bunny dominatrix friend." Bruce scowled.

"I am not a fluffy bunny."

"So you don't deny you're a dominatrix, then?" Bruce spluttered for a bit, and Harry howled with laughter. Even Alfred chuckled a bit.

"Don't worry, mate, your secret is safe with me. Who would I tell, anyway?" Harry looked across the table at Alfred.

"Alfred, I am sorry to inform you, but our Mr. Bruce Wayne walks the streets at night, chasing down men." Even Bruce cracked a smile at that one and, soon enough, he was sitting down at the table as well. Not that he drank tea, because the swill was disgusting.

-.-

After Harry uncovered Bruces secret, everything went swimmingly between the three. And by swimmingly, it is inferred that Harry and Bruce sniped at each other constantly, while Alfred played referee. Bruce even took Harry out to the cinemas, and to restaurant, and even to the zoo. And, with the help of Alfred, he kept the newspapers away from the boy.

No matter how much he insisted that the boy was Alfreds nephew come for a visit, the bloody vultures continued to make up scandalous stories about Harry and him. Things which were very raunchy and involved sex and intrigue and read just like some two dollar romance novel. And really, it was all false.

They kept the newspapers away from Harry, fearing he would be very upset, but when he eventually found a newspaper, he laughed. For about ten minutes straight, which was a bit insulting if Bruce was perfectly honest because, really, what was so bad about being with Bruce. The crusader was quite certain that if Harry just spent some time with him, than he would realise that –

Oh no, those thoughts were not going to happen. Because, regardless of how wrong they were and all the associated things, it would prove the tabloids right and Bruce _hated_ that.

Bruce sighed as another flash interrupted his lunch with Harry. Harry thought it was ridiculously amusing and, with his talent for words, had managed to inflame the situation without really saying anything. Bruce rued the day that he'd left Harry alone for five minutes to go to the bathroom.

And Harry still thought it was hilarious, the bloody bastard.

-.-

Bruce didn't involve Harry in his business as Batman, ever. It was a rule he had. But sometimes, when his night had been particularly gruelling, Bruce would enter the apartment through Harrys window. The kid, awake instantly, would help him unzip and take off his cowl. There was nothing sexual about it, even though Bruce was perfectly aware (and steadfastly ignoring) the way that Harrys hands would linger, or the way they skimmed along his body.

But one night, early morning, Bruce swung into Harry room as silently as he always did, and there was no noise, no movement. It was odd, and instantly put Bruce on edge. Harry always woke up if someone ventured near him when he was sleeping. It made Bruce slightly sad when he thought about how that instinctual conditioning came around, but knew it was a valuable life skill.

And yet, Harry hadn't moved. Bruce stalked to Harrys bed and gently pulled the sheets down to gaze at the sleeping boy, before he ripped them away completely. Shouting for Alfred, Bruce ran through the apartment, checking everywhere. Bruce met Alfred similarly sombre gaze and sighed, his shoulders sagging. They both gave the apartment a thorough once over, again and then once more but the verdict was the same. The little cat boy (and really, after awhile you forgot that he was part cat) was no longer in their apartment. They waited in vain the next day for him to reappear, to jump out and declare that they had been duped most masterfully. But it never happened.

Harry had disappeared and, as the days turned into weeks, and they transformed into months, it became apparent that he wasn't coming back.


	5. John

_**A short chapter, yes, but one delivered just over an hour of the last one. Be pleased and happy, readers, pleased ad happy. Especially since I'm a bit buzzed right now; so tell me if I've missed anything.**_

..|..

Looking up at the sky, the harsh sun beating down on his unprotected form, Harry was pretty sure that this counted as the worst jump ever. He was in a cage, shackled in cuffs at his ankles and wrists, plus a collar around his neck, which was attached to a stake that had been driven into the ground.

Harry had no idea how long he'd been in this world for, because he'd been knocked unconscious a few minutes after his arrival. He'd woken up, naked, in this small cage. He could, vaguely, hear the hustle and bustle of a town or village behind him, but he couldn't turn around far enough to see. He mourned for the loss of the fine silk pyjamas which Alfred had bought for him.

All he could see was desert.

Sand, sand and more fucking sand.

Harry was pretty sure he was never going to visit a beach again.

Ever.

The days were so hot he was constantly dehydrated and was losing most of his body weight in sweat, and the nights were so cold that he probably had frostbite – or whatever the desert equivalent was.

Counting those days, Harry had been in the cage for about a week. He was pretty sure that the only reason he was still alive was his magic, though even that couldn't stop him from turning into a distant relative of the lobster. Why do people actually, voluntarily, lye in the sun all day?

He was so red it was getting ridiculous.

There was a piercing scream from somewhere behind Harry, ripping through the monotony of the desert, and Harrys ears could hear the faint clashing of swords, before another, louder, roar echoed through the vast desert plains.

Harry could smell the thick scent of blood, being carried towards him on the wind that had started to sweep across the sand a few minutes before the first, feminine, scream.

Soon enough Harry could hear nothing. The people in the town were quiet, the obvious fight having either killed them or they'd retreated to their homes. Harry was curious as to what had happened, but probably couldn't yell loud enough to get anyone's attention.

And, with his luck, they wouldn't speak bloody English, anyway.

The soft sound of desert sand giving way to someone's heavy foot falls accompanied the scent of blood on the dying wind. Harry craned his head as much as was physically possible for him to do with the thick collar of metal pinning him down, and eventually a man stumbled into view.

Dark skin was offset by a white tunic like shirt, which was covered in blood. His head, shaved, was also drenched in blood. His gait, which had been uneven, was starting to steady. He was obviously getting better, the father he travelled from the village.

The man lifted a hand, reaching past the large rip in the right shoulder of his tunic, and prodded the wound. Harrys eyes could see it knitting back together, leaving a thick, ropy scar on the mans skin.

He was almost level with Harrys cage before he even noticed it.

He blinked, squinting at Harry, before walking forward. He tripped over nothing; thought the man probably would have protested that there was a particularly large piece of sand that tripped him up. Eventually, he stopped next to Harry cage. He said something in a deep, guttural language that Harry didn't understand.

"Help." Was all Harry said, though he could barely rasp out even that small word, his throat was so dry. Lifting up his hands to reach the man, he hissed as the restraints restricted his movement and rubbed against his sunburn.

The man nodded, though he probably had no idea what Harry had just said, and reached a hand to the bars. With one twist of his arm, the cage was suddenly missing a side. He reached his hands in and broke the chains keeping Harry restricted. Harry was in shock. He'd never seen someone covered in so much blood display such strength.

Even when he was with the X-Men, no one had been able to shatter thick iron chains like a cobweb.

There were shouts in the distance and Harry turned to look (victory! Movement!) and saw someone in severely outdated armour pointing at them. The man reached in and, with his bloody hands, dragged an unprotesting Harry out of the cage. He was then swung over the mans shoulder, the one that wasn't wounded, and grunted as the man started to run.

Harry barely bit back a scream when the man jumped into the air and didn't come back down.

…|…

In three weeks with his rescuer, Harry still didn't know the language the man was trying to teach him. There didn't seem to be any common ground between the two languages, but occasionally words would sound familiar, though they usually had different meanings. The man he'd come to know as Archi (short for Archiyarshu, which was always a mouthful) had taught him a few words mostly successfully, however.

The word for yes, the word for stay – which was always accompanied with a hand gesture, and the word for heart – or love. Harry had taught Archi the word for when something bad happens – fuck – and Harry had taught him how say the word sand. Which meant that when Harry said 'fuck sand', which he did often, Archi got the message.

Harry opened his eyes, once again waking up on sand. Archi had woken Harry up at some point the previous night and had flown off. Harry, after three weeks, had gotten used to sleeping while being carried through the air by a flying superman. Lying there in the sand, wrapped up in Archi's arms as the sun rose, Harry could tell that there was something different.

For a moment, Harry did nothing and just listened. He listened to the soft winds rolling over the sands, he listened to the waves slowly beating against the shore, he listened to Archi, his breath deep and slow in his sleep.

Magnificent green eyes snapped open.

Waves?

Shore?

Harry shot up, ignoring Archi who shot up next to him, sleepy eyes searching around for danger that wasn't there. He relaxed when Harry laughed, and sat back down in the sand as Harry ran into the water, clothes that Archi had stolen from him practically hanging off his frame as he splashed around.

Harry laughed and laughed and laughed, ignoring the fact that he normally didn't really like water, and just enjoyed seeing something that wasn't fucking _sand_. After a while, Harry stopped playing in the water and, instead, merely _looked_. Harry watched as the sun rose on the horizon, beams of light threading through the sky and playing on the surface of the ocean.

Harry barely started as Archi slammed into the water next to him, water splashing everywhere, so used to him landing gracelessly that it was only the force of the water slamming into his side that pushed him under the water. Archi laughed just the same, anyhow. Harry stood up and shoved Archi a bit, pouting before looking back at the sun.

Archi stood behind Harry, and Harry leant back into his broad chest.

Harry was quite sure that this, right here, was one of the happiest, most meaningful, deepest relationships he'd ever been in. And they didn't even speak the same language.

Or have sex, either.

Seriously, they hadn't had sex.

Thinking back on the previous worlds that he'd been in, Harry was quite sure that he'd been a bit … easy. Warren and Logan, and Bruce if the man hadn't been so moral – he didn't know any of them really well, not well enough when he engaged in a physical relationship with them at any rate. Shrugging, Harry decided that he didn't really care. People had one night stands all the time, why couldn't he do something similar? Besides, it's not like he'd ever see them again and have to be embarrassed by how quickly he'd had sex with them.

He kind of missed them, though, all the people he'd met. They were all so nice, and kind – most of them, any way. It really was a shame he'd never see any of them again. He'd be sad when he left this world as well.

Even though this world was positively medieval – fuck that, this world was practically ancient. There was no electricity, no guns, people used swords and knives. Harry hadn't seen a power line, or smoke plumes rising from somewhere industrial, or anything that suggests this world is, comparatively, past the '0 A.D' mark.

Anyway, regardless of the state of the world, Harry was going to miss Archiyarshu.

They watched the sun rise, and spent the rest of day alternating between lying on the beach or playing in the water.

…|…

The first fight they had was over, incidentally, a fight. Soldiers in armour that Harry had seen in history books that Scott had given him had been pursuing them since a few days after they left the beach. Archi had told Harry to stay, once again, and Harry had gotten annoyed. He wanted to help, he wasn't a bloody invalid! Archi had, literally, sat him on his arse and flown off to defeat the soldiers

When he'd arrived back, sword covered in the blood of other people and not a mark on him, Harry had lost it. Even though Archi couldn't speak or understand English, Harry was pretty sure he got his point across with yelling and wild, violent gestures. Archi threw down his sword and started to yell back.

Harry was pretty sure he was yelling about something. Maybe something about Harry staying safe – and god fucking damn it, the husky way Archi purred out his name did _not_ turn his knees to jelly! – and maybe, if Harry read the hand gestures right, something about Harry being _safe_.

How Harry detested that word.

Archiyarshu blinked when Harrys cat ears went flat back against his head, his tail snapping wildly out behind him. He'd never seen Harry so obviously angry before. Harry walked the three steps separating them and punched Archi straight in the jaw. Archi stumbled back a bit, and Harry cursed, holding his hand. Like a brick fucking wall.

Out of options, Harry didn't even care that Archi couldn't understand English. Pointing one clawed hand at Archi, his index finger almost touching his super powered friend, Harry hissed out an insult and stormed off into the desert.

Archi frowned. He had no idea what an '_arsehole_' was, but he didn't like it.

A few hours later, Harry trudged back to where he'd left Archi, with a scowl on his face. He sat down next to Archi in front of the fire Archi'd made. Neither said anything, but Harry placed a hand over Archi's, and then they were all right again.

…|…

Archiyarshu was pretty sure that, as much as he had no idea what the word 'arsehole' was, he hated that single world with the entirety of his being. Whenever he and Harry got into fights, it was always the last thing Harry would say before storming off in a rage.

Harry and Archi had, in the one and a half months that Harry had been with Archi, gotten into several fights – almost always about the same thing. Archi had no idea why Harry was so insistent that he go and fight. He was not human, more than human – better than humans. Archiyarshu had lived in cultures where Harry would have been _worshipped_.

Archiyarshu could not just let something so … maginificent – so innocent! – dirty their hands in battle.

Archi supposed that it was just the impetuousness of youth. Maybe he'd been the same way when he was younger. So eager to jump into the deep end.

Once again, Harry just stormed off, except Archi wasn't just going to let him run off into nowhere again. There was trouble the way he was headed, and Archi was pretty damn sure that Harry wasn't like him, wasn't able impenetrable, able to heal. He wasn't about to let him get hurt, or killed.

Chasing after Harry turned out to be one of the best and worst decisions of Archi's long life.

Harry hadn't been expecting for Archi to chase after him and, when the taller man slammed down into the ground in front of him, Harry recoiled backwards and scowled up at Archi from where he was sitting in the dirt. Harry hoped his expression properly expressed his '_what the fuck do you want?_' sentiment, because he sure as hell couldn't say it.

Archi picked Harry up and flew them back to where they'd been ten minutes earlier before Harry had shouted 'arsehole' and run off. Setting him down, Archi looked off in the distance, and saw the first plumes of smoke of an army setting down. He turned back to Harry, and saw an odd expression on the cat boys face.

"You came after me." Harry said, but Archi had no idea what it meant. Harry walked forward and reached a hand up, caressing the side of his face, his white hand standing out next to the darkness of Archi's skin.

Harry stepped closer and pressed a kiss to Archis lips. Harry pulled back a few seconds later and offered the frozen Archi a smile. Harry was about to turn away when he was pulled against the older mans body and kissed, hard.

They fell into the sand, hands roaming and clothes being thrown to the wind.

…|…

Harry was woken up by the sound he normally associated with Archi, when the man landed in sand. The pieces of sand assaulting him also gave him a clue as to what was happening. Except, he was still pressed firmly against Archi, their legs intertwined and sharing body heat.

Harry opened his eyes and was greeted with the sight of a blonde woman who had a fearsome scowl on her face. Harry sat up, frantically searching around for some clothing. He finally found his pair of stolen pants and pulled them up hurriedly, not caring that he was covered in semen and ruining the pants.

Archi sat up slowly, and Harry threw the man some pants. Archi held them in his lap and looked at Harry, confused. Harry pointed at the blonde, and Archi bolted upright. He said something, and she said something back, her tone low, dangerous and angry. She'd said '_Archiyarshu'_ in a way that made Harrys heart hurt. It was the way that Bobby had said Rouge name when some new mansion arrival had pressed a kiss the edge of her lips. Even though the teen had not meant anything by it, Bobby had still been hurt.

She started yelling at Archi in the language that Harry didn't understand, and then she said a few things in another language. It was some form of Ancient Greek, and Hermione had gone on an ancient language binge in their third year when she started runes. Harry could identify the word _married_ in the womans tirade.

Harry repeated the word.

And again.

Archi and the woman turned to him, and Harry looked at Archi.

Harry repeated the word, stumbling over the pronunciation, but he was sure they got the gist.

Archi stepped towards him, but Harry took a step back. Archi tried to get closer to him again, but Harry stumbled back and gave a distressed hiss. Archi was _married_? The stupid fuck had just cheated on his wife, and now Harry really was as bad as the Dursleys had always told him he was. How could Archi do this? So much for this being one of the most profound relationships that Harry had ever had.

What a load of utter bullocks.

Next world he visited, Harry wasn't going to get emotionally involved with anyone. He was not going to get close to anyone, because people fucking sucked. Archi tried to take another step towards him, but the woman put a hand on his shoulder to stop him. He looked back at her, and she ground out a few sentences.

Archi turned back to look at Harry, and Harry spat at his feet. He could feel his eyes welling with tears, and he didn't want Archi to see him cry.

"How could you – Fucking arsehole." Harry hissed out, before turning and running off into the desert on all fours, as fast as he could possibly go. Archi tried to go after him, but the hand on his shoulder restrained him.

By the time he finished arguing with the woman he'd been married to for hundreds of years, Harry had already disappeared from the desert in a flash of light. He spent days scouring the desert, looking for Harry. The days turned into weeks, which turned into months.

Eventually, he had to give up searching for Harry, resigning himself to the fact that the last thing Harry ever said to him was '_arsehole_.'

How he hated that word.


	6. In Which There is Considerably Less Sun

_This is a bit of a long one, eh folks? Well, I'm sure you'll all be glad to know that my life is fixed up after the fire, and everything is good. Why, just this morning, Monday morning, I completed my very first university test. It is also my mums birthday. I've got to stop reminding her how close she's getting to fifty, or she's going to stop making me things to eat. _

_Looks like my mojo is back! I am only slightly ashamed that it came back over a twilight crossover. Maybe I should go brain myself against the wall…_

_I had the first two part of this written, with Harry in the forest, and the initial convo with Charlie, but after that nothing. I got home, started writing, and only just finished. _

_Although, considering my mums birthday was on the fourth of June, and I'm posting it on the second of July, I should probably delete most of this authors note. Oh well, I doubt people read my authors notes._

_Anyway, this here is, surprise, surprise, **SLASH**! I dare you to guess the pairing. Go on. Dare you. Drats, foiled again. Happy reading!_

_Also, thank you to everyone who was concerned about me and my family after the fire, and everyone who expressed their well wishes and all sorts of stuff like that. You are all wonderful people, and witches, and fangirls, and that one green thing hiding in the corner, who's still very nice._

...|…

When Harry next opened his eyes, he was near the edge of a forest. He listened for a few minutes, the sounds of a quiet town interspersed with the sounds of the forest. After a few moments, he found the energy to stand. Still clad only in the too big pants that he'd acquired in the previous world, a chill quickly set in, and Harry shivered. This place looked and felt cold and miserable. Perfect for his mood, then. A matched pair.

Swaying unsteadily on his feet, Harry idly wondered when he'd last had something to eat. He couldn't really remember. He would have to get something to eat quickly, then, so as not to starve to a painful death. Harry took two steps and was able to glimpse the edge of the tree line. The third step, his bare foot caught an upturned root. Harry cursed his luck as he went down, cat like reflexes dulled by hunger and sadness, and not quick enough to catch himself before he hit the ground.

Lying there, with the world slowly fading black at the edges, Harry realised that he must have hit his head on something hard. At least this way he would not feel it when he starved to death. Or maybe he would freeze? The air was getting colder and he could vaguely feel wetness on his skin, but Harry was unsure if that was rain, or just the forest floor. Maybe he would be eaten. His last though, before the blissful nothing of unconsciousness, was that maybe it would be a large cat.

And if so, would that count as cannibalism?

-.-

Awareness slowly faded back in. He was not on the forest floor, cheek pressed against mud and moss, but he wasn't in a hospital. The bed was too soft, and the entire room lacked the scent of sterility that was part and parcel with a hospital room. Cautiously sniffing the air once more, Harry cracked his eyes open. He was in someone's home, and had been laid out on their couch. Whoever had brought him here had enough brains to lay him on his stomach, at least. His tail had not been slept on and was blissfully unkinked.

Harry sat up slowly. His clothes had been changed, with the shirt and pants he was in being even more ill-fitting than the pants that Archi had stole for him. The thought of Archi is quickly pushed away with the uncomfortable knowledge that someone had un and then redressed him. Harry gingerly felt the bump on his head; whatever he'd hit had missed his ear by barely an inch. Harry didn't want to contemplate how much pain he would be in if his ear was smashed.

It was very delicate.

That very ear picked up a noise, and Harrys head swivelled around, half a second before he jumped off the couch to fully face the man. He had been right, the clothes were almost as bad as Dudleys old hand-me-downs, but much nicer, and the man was muscular, rather than fat. The lounge room Harry was in fed straight into a small kitchen area, and the man was sitting at what was obviously his kitchen table. The man was young, probably less than a decade older than Harry, with dark brown hair and eyes to match.

He was watching Harry carefully, with an air of disbelief that told of a world where a cat boy would not be easily accepted, if at all. Harry hoped that he wouldn't be shipped off to some secret government facility to be experimented on. The man didn't seem scared or frightened or ready to freak out, however, just completely bewildered, as if he could not actually believe there was a cat boy standing in his lounge room.

Harry walked slowly towards the man, wary of his sore head, and prepared to assimilate to the new world. The man watched him carefully, as if afraid Harry might collapse. Harry made it to the closest chair and seated himself across the table from Charlie. There was an extra chair, but Harry couldn't hear anybody but the two of them in the house. Curious. There was silence.

"Er, hello. I'm Harry." The brunette looked started, and Harry mused that he probably looked more like a wild animal than a human. After spending so long in the desert with no modern comforts, he must look frightful. The man probably hadn't expected Harry to be able to talk, least of all with an English accent.

"I'm Charlie. How's your head?" Harry shrugged.

"It's alright." There was silence, before Charlie stood and walked to the fridge.

"Do you want something to drink?" Harry nodded, asking for water. Charlie sat back down, passing Harry some water before opening a bottle of ginger ale.

"Thank you for, um, getting me out of the forest." Harry said softly, and Charlie smiled at him.

"Wasn't any trouble. I saw your hand on the ground, and went over to investigate, and then I brought you inside. I decided against taking you to the hospital once I realised that your, um…"

"Appendages?" Harry offered, and Charlie nodded, slotting the word into his speech.

"Once I noticed your appendages were real." Harry took a sip of water.

"Thank you for that. I doubt cat boys are very common here." Charlie chuckled.

"No, not common at all." Harry took a breath and decided to ask Charlie about the world he was in. He doubted that there were any wise old telepathic headmasters, or kind butlers to fill him in.

"Charlie, where is here?" Charlie looked up from where he'd been staring at the table.

"Forks, Washington." Harry nodded. America again, then.

"How old are you?" Charlie asks, and Harry thinks hard. He had been fifteen, but he'd been through a few worlds, and had spent months in each. He could be sixteen now, for all he knew. His sense of time has been distorted.

"How old are _you_?" Charlie raised an eyebrow, a smirk tilting Harrys lips, and Charlie chuckled once more.

"I was born in 1964, and it's 1989."

"You're 25. I was born in 1980." Charlie chocked on his drink; ginger ale splattering his chin and the table.

"What?" He coughs out, and Harry laughs.

"I'm eighteen." Harry lies with a smile. If he could be seventeen at fifteen, then surely at sixteen he would look eighteen?

"Okay then." Charlie says, grabbing some paper towel to clean the table and himself.

They talk for a while, and Harry subtly pries more information out of Charlie. It's September, Forks is almost a criminally small town. It rains constantly. There are no cat boys in this world. Harry wonders if perhaps there is a wizarding world here, but quickly pushes the thought out of his mind. Even in the wizarding world, he was an oddity. And, without his wand, he would speedily be taken away to something like the Department of Mysteries.

Charlie also managed to learn things from the teen. He was an orphan, British, with a quiet dislike for rain. He was more heartbroken than Charlie himself, and disliked invasive questions.

Charlie showed him to the spare room.

-.-

A routine was quickly established. Charlie would wake up at half past six and prepare himself for the day ahead. He would dress in his uniform, brush his hair, and head downstairs. Harry would wake up just before seven and head downstairs. He made breakfast for the two of them and they ate in a companionable silence. They never talked about anything deep or ground breaking, and soon enough Charlie headed off to the police station. In his adventures through the worlds, he'd never actually met anyone who was proper authority. He'd met vigilantes, superheros and mutants, but never an actual member of the law.

It was odd. And kind of cool. Charlie had a gun, like legitimately, he had a gun. He kept it in a locked case at night, but still. And he had handcuffs, which was ridiculous. The first time Harry had seen them, his mind had completely bypassed the gutter and instead swan dived into the sewers, paddling about playfully. Charlie either completely ignored or completely missed the suddenly dirty thoughts that plagued Harrys mind, and the slight wavering of his voice.

As if that wasn't enough to make Harry weak in the knees, Charlie topped it all off with a uniform. Sure, it wasn't leather (or spandex) or Kevlar, but an actual uniform. Like, an enforced uniform, rather than 'hey, we're not exactly on the right side of the law, so let's protect our identities with silly – but attractive – costumes.' Harry didn't realise that, along with his already apparent fetishes of having his ears rubbed, men in tight clothing and his love of destroying things, he had a thing for men in uniform. Maybe, travelling through the universes, Harry could collect them all?

A cop in this dimension (hopefully), a sailor in the next, then army, then air force. Oh, and a fireman – for the love of everything holy, please, a fireman.

God, when he got back to his dimension, he was going to have to buy a new bed, just to have enough room to carve himself some rightfully earned notches. With the way he was going, he was going to get back home and go into withdrawals. Oh well, Harry shrugged. He was having fun at the moment, that's what counted. Besides, if things got too bad once he was at home, he could just start having one night stands there.

Although, with the issue of the press, it might become a problem. Then again, who said he could only have sex with wizards? No one. Harry laughed out loud as he made dinner. Unbeknownst to our happy cat boy, he was being watched by Charlie. The man was slightly confused. When they'd first met, Harry had been clearly heart broken. He moped about a bit, and hardly ever smiled, but after a few days, he started to smile. A few days after that, and he was laughing and joyful and so completely happy that Charlie simply couldn't comprehend it.

And now Harry was laughing at nothing, while making dinner.

Now, Charlie appreciated the fact that Harry cooked for him, truly, he did. Harry even made him lunch. The folks at the diner had even commented about how he never ate there anymore, and his mates at work had been ribbing him about having a new woman. He highly doubted that would ever happen. He'd loved Renee, and despite the fact that their relationship had disintegrated, he highly doubted he'd ever stop loving her. Charlie stepped into the kitchen, which was pleasantly free of the smell of burnt food, which had always permeated the air when ever he'd tried to cook, and couldn't believe that he was about to risk the wonderful food that Harry was making him for the sake of his curiosity.

"Hey, Harry?" Harry turned around, a smile on his face and specks of flour colouring his dark hair. Charlie was stuck, for a second, at the contrast between Harry – a god damn, fucking _cat boy_ – and the thoughts of Renee. Renee hated the kitchen, hated to cook. They'd eaten out a lot, mostly because Renee despised the kitchen and the womanly shackles she apparently thought it meant, and Charlie could set cornflakes on fire. Harry, on the other hand, loved the kitchen. He was such a little homemaker, it was ridiculous.

He cleaned Charlies uniform, made the beds, made sure the house was tidy and packed him lunch. Lunch with sandwiches and thoughtful notes, and happy cat faces on said notes. Charlie looked at Harry a bit longer, still kind of struck with the picture Harry made, tail swirling around him, until Harry prodded him out of his reverie with a quiet but amused,

"Yes, Charlie?" The police man blinked, walking further into the kitchen and sitting down at the table.

"Can I ask you a question?" He asked, and Harry chuckled.

"You just did, but ask another one if it pleases you." Charlie chuckled softly as well, before trying to think about the best way to word his inquiry. Eventually he decided to just do what he did best, be blunt. He was horrible at subtle, and he felt awkward trying it.

"Why are you so happy? When you came here, you were so…sad. What changed?" Harry placed down the food he'd been working on and grabbed a dish towel to wipe his hands as he sat down across from Charlie. There was silence as Harry thought. How to explain to Charlie that, as he was a cross-dimensional traveller, the normal heart break situations didn't really apply to him, without sounding completely bonkers. That was indeed a quandary, wasn't it?

"Well, that is a question. I won't deny that I was hurt. Badly. Archi, he hurt me, and for a while, I didn't even want to face the sun." Harry said, pondering on the time he spent wandering in the desert, alone. Even without his sadness, he wouldn't have wanted to face that ruddy sun. Charlie, while Harry was away in his thoughts, blinked. Harry had been hurt by a man? Harry was … gay? He never would have picked it. Charlie thought on that for a second, remembering Harry in the kitchen, in the ruffled apron he'd bought Renee as a gag gift that she'd left in the hall cupboard, and how suited he was for domestic life.

Hmm. How had he not picked it?

"But, life goes on, Charlie. It feels like it doesn't, like nothing will ever be the same again. Without them, the world that had been in the palm of your hands turns to shit." Harry watched Charlie with hawk eyes. He had noticed the man sulk about, and, whilst he preferred to let people mope in their own time, it was clear Charlie had been grieving for his relationship for far too long.

"One day you wake up, and it's not that bad. The next day, you smile, and the day after that, you laugh. Before you know it, you're singing horrific pop songs at the top of your lungs and dance around the living room in your boxers because it amuses you to no end to watch your room mate turn red, rather than because you simply can't be bothered to get dressed that day." Harry was very emphatic with his speech. Either Charlie would, hopefully, get his message about wandering around in a less than presentable manner, or he'd think Harry was talking from personal experience.

Charlie listened to Harrys answer carefully, and thought. That answer wasn't actually half bad. Other people, like Harry and Billy had tried to make him see that like wasn't over just because he and Renee were, but none had ever explained it as eloquently, as passionately, as Harry had. There was a fire in Harrys mismatched eyes as he grabbed Charlies hand, fierce with his conviction. Charlie was struck, once again, with how different Harry was from Renee. They were both passionate, fiery people, but Harry seemed less… abrasive, somehow.

The pair stared at each other for a few minutes, silence and intensity stretching through the air between them, before the moment was broken by a beeping from the oven. The pair jumped, before Harry let go of Charlies hand and headed over to the oven. Grabbing the oven mits, Harry wondered if Charlie would ever really know how hard he was trying to pull him from the funk he slipped into. Honestly, he was cooking. Sure, Harry could cook, but after his childhood it would never be his favourite thing.

Charlie needed to stop eating unhealthy food, or he was going to ruin that nice body he had. All muscle, no fat, smooth face, lovely eyes…Harry, if asked, would blame his blush on the heat from the oven. His tail snapped, and Harry scolded himself. He shouldn't be trying to get into Charlies pants because…because…Harry was sure there was a logical reason he shouldn't, like the man having gone through a bad breakup or something like that, but the dominant side of his brain didn't actually give that much of a fuck.

Seriously, what Charlie needed was some good, hard rebound sex. Sex with no consequences. Mayhap with a teen that would only end up disappearing into the ether, anyway?

Hmm, he should probably tell Charlie that he was going to disappear sometime in the future. He wouldn't want Charlie to slip back into his depressive groove, after all, thinking Harry had run out on him. Not that Harry had anything to run out on. Yet. Harry was confident that, with time, he would have something to leave behind. Not that that was a particularly comforting thought. Harry didn't like to think about what happened after he left a universe. The friends he'd made, his bed buddies, wondering what happened to him.

Charlie stood up to help him plate up, and the worry that caused chased all melancholy out of Harrys mind. Charlie anywhere near actual kitchen-y stuff was bad. Harry hadn't realised that anyone could be so disastrous in a kitchen, but Charlie surpassed all logical boundaries. Honestly, Harry had let him make breakfast once, and black smoke had billowed out of the kitchen. It was ridiculous. He hadn't even touched the oven!

Harry shoed Charlie away to make the table, and they sat down for an easy dinner.

..|..

Charlie hadn't really thought about what Harry felt about being couped up inside all day, only leaving the house to go into the backyard occasionally. Even after his co-workers started to tease him, honest to God tease, him about the mysterious new lady friend he had apparently acquired, he hadn't thought about it. There had been no reason to. Besides he was more concerned with setting his friends straight about the 'new woman' he had, and trying to figure out why his heart kind of skipped a beat of two whenever Harry casually brushed up against him. Or smiled at him. Or laughed. Or was in the same generally vicinity as Charlie was.

It was only after one of his mates accused him of locking his new girlfriend away in the attic, only appearing cook and, er, please, him, did he start to think about the fact that Harry was, essentially, confined to the house. It was through no fault of Charlies, of course, he'd never told Harry that he couldn't leave the house. The fact that Harry didn't leave was more likely because of his less than usual appendages.

Nevertheless, the fact remained that Harry didn't leave the house. It couldn't be good for his mental health so, when Charlie got home, he approached Harry about it. Surely Harry couldn't want to be couped up inside. Harry, apparently, hadn't even thought about it like that.

"The less I go out, the less I'm noticed." Harry said, with a shrug. He wasn't bothered. He knew he could go outside if he wanted to.

"Surely you miss being outside in the, er, sun." Harry laughed at that. Sun? He was in Forks, there was no sun.

"You know what I mean." Charlie groused, which made Harry laugh even harder.

"Come on, Harry there must be something you miss being stuck inside like this." Harry shook his head, a bemused smile still on his face.

"You are aware that I can go outside at any point. I merely stay inside so as to not cause a stir with my appearance. And besides, having free reign of your house is much better than being locked in a cupboard." Harry said flippantly. Charlie twitched slightly, his emotions completely thrown to the wind with that completely unintended insight into Harrys past. No wonder the teen was a bit small for his age. Charlie, as a father himself, couldn't abide by the abuse of children.

"So, nothing that you miss?" Charlie asked as Harry stood up to leave the lounge room. He was only going to the kitchen to put his cup away, but Charlie figured the conversation would shift once Harry got back.

"Hmm, I think I miss running." Harry said with a bit of snark, before drifting into the kitchen. One last remark made it to Charlies ears, and it made him blush. It also, however, made his stomach lurch with an unpleasant sensation, or well, not unpleasant, just, aw hell, it wasn't even his stomach that had twisted at that. He tried to ignore it though, because nothing of his should flutter or twist when he thought about Harry.

"I miss sex. Lots of sex." Charlie was silent when Harry sat back down. They put a movie in. Charlie couldn't focus on the movie, however, because all he could think of was the fact that Harry missed sex. Now, the thought of Harry in the same sentence as sex made his insides flutter, and he wondered if Harrys teeth were as sharp as they looked and whether or not Harry was flexible. On the other hand, the thought of Harry having sex with someone else made him frown, and kind of not want to let Harry out of the house ever again.

The next week, Harry approached Charlie with a proposition. No, not that type of proposition, though Harry was sorely tempted considering Charlie looked absolutely delectable before he'd brushed his hair and shaved, with a little bit of stubble and the undeniable air of a man on his day off. Harry wanted Charlie to help him blend in with the rest of the population and, if Charlie wanted to sacrifice his day off, show him around.

Charlie was, though he didn't show it, hesitant to agree. They'd go into town, and then Harry would catch the eye of a handsome man or someone considerably more desirable than Charlie, and Harry would flounce off and have sex. Lots and lots of, probably kinky, sex. Charlie knew he had no reason to feel jealous, he and Harry were just friends and house mates. They didn't have a relationship, they didn't even have casual sex. There was no logical reason for Charlie to want to secret Harry away and cook for him and, er, please him. With the reiteration of the rough sentiment that his co-workers had used to rib him, Charlie realised that he was being silly.

But then, attraction was rarely rational.

So Charlie took Harry out, but made sure the teen was rugged up securely. He hadn't been so concerned about the way someone else was dressed since the last time he'd seen Bella. It had been almost half a year since he'd last seen her, and he missed his baby. Giving Harry a look over once more wasn't necessary, but he did it anyway. A brightly coloured beanie tugged comfortably down around where Harrys ears should have been, effectively hiding that part of his not quite human-ness. Harry was wearing a long coat, not so bulky as to classify as a trench coat, but otherwise very similar. Charlie marvelled at the things he found in his closet.

Harry had thought that Port Angeles was very nice. They had stopped for doughnuts, and Harry had cackled about how they only way it could get better was if Charlie was in his uniform. Charlie hadn't been amused. Well, okay, so he'd been a bit amused. He'd promised to wear his uniform next time he ate a doughnut, and Harry had promised to make sure he did. Neither of them saw Sue Clearwater watching them intently. Neither would have cared overly much either, because they weren't doing anything naughty.

Mysterious would always be the female mind to the opposite gender.

For, whilst Harry and Charlie were just being friendly, with maybe a slight undercurrent of sexual tension, Sue saw something completely different. They were obviously out on a date, with the way Charlie was constantly hovering over the smaller figure. The constant laughter was a good sign, she noted, as was Charlie paying for everything.

She had wanted, when they separated so Harry could use the lavatory, to have an accidental 'running into' with Charlies date in the ladies. That way she could make sure Charlie wasn't going to get his heart broken. She was shocked to find that Harry didn't go into the ladies room, and instead used the men's. Keeping a careful, if somewhat stalker-ish, eye on the man as he came out Sue could clearly see that Charlie _was_ on a date with a man. A very attractive man.

She cackled, not even bothing to silence it, and completely ignored the looks she got. Charlie, you dog! Shortly after that, she left to return to the reservation. Barely five minutes after she arrived home, both her husband Harry and Billy Black were aware of Charlies date.

The men were shocked, understandably, that their friend felt that way about another man, but they didn't let it get to them. They'd been friends with Charlie for years after all. Within the hour, she had convinced them to drop by unexpectedly on Charlie next time they knew he'd be home. Charlie would never tell them, she reasoned, so they'd have to go to him to show that they were okay with him being gay.

Miles away, Charlie suddenly stopped walking down the street. He had the strongest feeling that something ominous had just been decided, but shrugged it off when Harry turned back to smile on him.

..|..

Charlie had had a fairly easy day at work. His lunch had been nice, the lads hadn't been too thorough with their teasing, and nothing horrific had happened all day. He arrived home in a good mood. This alone should have tipped the man off to the fact that something was about to go down. Perfect days never happened. Sure enough, a few seconds after getting out of his car, a voice called out to him. Turning around, Charlie saw Harry and Billy standing there with large grins on their faces.

"Hey Charlie!" Billy said cheerfully, and Charlie almost swore. How was he going to hide Harry? Well, he didn't want to hide Harry, just his appendages. Actually, he didn't really want to cover up Harrys ears of tail, either. They were a part of him, and Charlie barely noticed anymore. It was remarkable how quickly they faded into the background of Harrys personality. Then again, Harry was keeping him fed and healthy, so who was he to complain about assorted extras on his favourite non-human?

Charlie exchanged pleasant greetings with his friends and realised that there was no way he was going to get rid of them. They'd obviously, somehow, heard the rumours that he had a girlfriend, and weren't going to leave until they saw for themselves. They'd go soon enough once they realised that he merely had a new house mate. The only problem was them freaking out about the fact that he was living with a cat/human hybrid.

Charlie unlocked the front door, quite loudly, and raised his voice when he spoke to Harry and Billy, giving Harry the gift of forewarning, no matter how short that warning was. Harry and Billy watched curiously as Charlie called out that he was home, with company. He just wanted to emphasise the point, so Harry couldn't accuse him of not knowing. Half a second later, a head popper out from around the corner. His head was soon followed by the rest of him. He was wearing that apron, as he was wont to do, and he was wiping his hands on a tea towel. Charlie was stunned, however, by the fact that he couldn't see any ears or a tail.

Sure, Harrys hair was ridiculously more messy than it usually was, but that was the only difference.

"Hello Charlie, you should have told me you were going to bring home friends. I'm not sure if we'll have enough, now." Harry said calmly, a wide smile on his face. He walked forward a few steps, and shook the hands of both men as he introduced himself.

"It's brilliant to meet you, but I have to get back to dinner. It's almost ready, and I would hate for it to burn." Harry was as happy as he normally was, no sign of anything unusual. He bounced out of the hall and back into the kitchen. Harry and Billy shared a look that didn't go entirely unnoticed by Charlie, but the cop decided to ignore it in the face of Harry looking so…human. His messier than usual hair had even covered up his hetrochromia. Not that his green eye was particularly normal, being ridiculously luminescent, but it was more socially acceptable than the yellow one.

It wasn't that Harry looked bad, far from it; he just missed the normal, irregular, Harry.

Charlie shepherded his friends into the lounge room, each man taking up one of the two single reclining chairs that occupied the room. Charlie lounged on the couch, untucking his shirt from his pants and loosening his tie, as he chatted with two of his best friends. He could hear Harry clanking about in the kitchen, and smiled at the thought of the potential confusion rising from having two Harrys.

"Dinner!" Harrys cheerful voice called out, and the three men headed towards the kitchen table. Lasagne. Charlie loved Harrys lasagne. All four men ate in relative quiet, until all that was hear was cutlery scraping against plates. Then the after dinner talking started, and Harry became highly amused, while Charlie was pretty much oblivious.

"It's good you can cook, Harry. Charlie can't cook at all." Billy began.

"Yeah, it's good he has someone who'll look after him like that." Harry Clearwater said. Charlie nodded, it was lucky for him that Harry could cook.

"Without him I'd still be getting most of my meals at the diner." Charlie chipped in.

"Yeah, but we're still friends with Charlie, even though he can't cook." Harry continued, and Billy nodded.

"Oh yeah, still brothers. We would never hate him for something outside of his control." On the surface, the four men were having a light conversation. Slightly deeper, however, they were having a significant conversation. One which Charlie missed entirely.

"I know you wouldn't do that." Charlie blinked at the sudden change of subject, but he didn't really have much more to say on the subject of Harrys cooking apart from more compliments that would, inevitably, get more and more innuendo filled until he'd be propositioning his house mate across the table from his two best friends.

"And Charlie is a wonderful man." Harry the cat boy piped in helpfully, and Harry the elder nodded.

"He is at that. And a damn fine cop. People who'd say otherwise just because of, well, things he can't control, are fools." Harry the human received a strong agreement from Billy, who practically shouted,

"Damn fools!" This was the first inkling Charlie had that he had missed something vital in the conversation. No one else seemed out of the loop, however, so he let it slide.

"Besides, each to his own." Harry said succinctly, and both native American men nodded heartily. Charlie had the most adorable little confused face going on, so Harry decided to let him in on it.

"I'm going to clear the table if you're all finished." Harry said, and Charlie stood up to help him. They were waved away, however, by Charlies friends.

"No, you two go sit down. We'll clean this stuff up. It's the least we can do, for intruding on the pair of you." Billy said, and Harry the cat nodded, taking Charlie by the arm and leading him to the couch. They sat down, Harry seated closer than he normally would have. Significantly closer. In fact, they were pressed side to side, even though they had the entirely of the lounge to spread out on.

"Am I missing out on something?" Charlie asked Harry quietly, and the teen sniggered for a few seconds, before practically howling with laughter. Charlie was bemused, and eventually Harry answered him.

"You really thought they were talking about how bad you are in the kitchen?" Harry asked, and Charlie nodded.

"It got a little weird at the end, but yeah."

"Oh, Charlie, you have such good friends. Subtle friends, which makes me wonder how you're so bad at anything subtle. They were trying to let you know that they're perfectly fine with you dating another man." Charlie blinked, and the lifted an eyebrow.

"But I'm not dating a man." Harry sniggered into his hand once more.

"So? They think you're dating me, and you've been too clueless to clue them in." Charlie blinked, replaying the previous conversation, before groaning. There was chuckling from in the kitchen.

"Take it easy on him Harry; we want him in one piece still!" Billy cackled with all the amusement of a man who knew he was going to be teasing his friend for a long time. Charlies shoulders sagged, and his head dropped against the back of the lounge. He opened his eyes, then, and looked at Harry curiously as he called back to the two men doing the dishes.

"But he's more fun when he's undone!" There was raucous laughter from the kitchen area, and Charlie raised an eyebrow at Harry.

"You don't seem to be dissuading them from their ideas, either." Charlie said, and Harry winked at him.

"Course not. Watching you blush is adorable." Harry said, pointing at the faint red that stained Charlies face. There was the noise of a sink draining and Charlie knew that, in a few seconds, they'd be joined by his two best friends who were, apparently, totally okay with him dating a man. Well, you learn new things every day. Charlie slipped his arm between Harry and the lounge, wrapping around the thin waist and pulling Harry closer to him.

"Two can play at that game." Charlie fairly growled into Harrys hair, where he was pretty sure the boys ear was, and was satisfied with the slight shudder he received in return. From that moment, the game was on. Innuendos ranging from slight, to just barely being able to count as an innuendo were thrown about the room, and pretty soon the other Harry and Billy were in on it to. There was much fun had by the four men, even though, later, Charlie would realise that there was no longer anyway he could convince his friends that he and Harry weren't dating.

Of course, that thought didn't cross his mind at the time, because he didn't even want to convince himself that he and Harry weren't dating.

And boy, wasn't that something to firmly ignore.

..|..

The next day, Charlie wasn't sure whether to feel awkward around Harry or not. He knew he shouldn't, not really, because it was Harry who started the game last night, not him. But it had been him who'd taken it to physical contact, wrapping his arm around Harrys waist, holding the younger man close to him, rubbing his cheek against the mass of hair and generally acting glued to Harry. He just couldn't help himself, however. He knew he'd never have an actual reason to touch Harry like that, so he'd grabbed onto it (and Harry) with both hands.

Harry, however, was unconcerned. He'd enjoyed Charlies hands on approach last night. He had never really been a couple. He probably would have with Warren, except he left too soon. Logan had been possessive, but hadn't really seemed to be the cuddle in public type. In fact, not many people had known about him and Logan, and Archi…well, there hadn't exactly been an abundance of people around to be affectionate in front of.

Having Charlie practically cuddle him in front of his friends had been surprisingly nice. He didn't ever want to be a couple like Will and Layla, but maybe just hand holding in public and hugs. That would do him. Now, to find a way to get Charlie to do him… Harry got lost in that train of thought and, by the time he came out of it, he'd burnt the pancakes. Charlie came in, then, and wrinkled his nose at the smell.

"Sorry, Charlie, I kinda zoned out." Harry said with a grin, which was just on the right side of being completely sexual, but Charlie only frowned.

"I'm sorry too, Harry. I took thinks too far last night. I shouldn't have. I apologise if I've made you uncomfortable." He said, completely serious, and Harry blinked.

"You're kidding." Harry deadpanned. He was not going to lose all of that progress to something so fleeting and utterly human as morals.

"No." Charlie said, and Harry rolled his eyes. Switching off the stove, moving the frying pan away from the edge, Harry took a deep breath before turning towards Charlie.

"You think that was inappropriate, Charlie?" Harry asked, taking a step towards the man. He would be taking a chance, but only a slight one, and all the odds were stacked in his favour.

"Yes. I should have stuck to banter, instead of escalating the issue." Charlie was obviously beating himself up over what he perceived as a slight against Harry. Harry, on the other hand, was quite determined to make sure that Charlie would never, ever again feel the urge to apologise for touching him.

"Well, I'll just have to even it out, then." Harry smiled, before reaching out and grabbing Charlie by the back of his head. He had a moment to enjoy the startled look on Charlies face before Harry pressed their lips together. Harry quickly licked and nipped at Charlies lips, the man opening them out of pure instinct, before he practically plundered Charlies mouth. Charlie just started to respond, his tongue barely sliding against Harrys, before the younger, shorter man pulled back and stepped away. Charlie blinked, his gaze unfocused, and Harry gave an insincere smile.

"I am terrible, completely sorry, Charlie, for escalating the situation like that. It was inappropriate." Harry said, and Charlie frowned. He stepped forward, closing the distance that Harry had opened.

"Harry." He said quite seriously, and Harry raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, Charlie?" He asked, and Charlie placed his hands on Harrys shoulders. Harry leant into the touch, and Charlie tightened his hold as he drew Harry even closer.

"I am sorry for last night." Harry scowled again, opening his mouth to retort, when Charlie beat him to it.

"I am most apologetic that I didn't kiss you then." Kiss was not the word that he wanted to use, oh no, there were numerous descriptors that he could have used that would have fit so much better, but Charlie didn't want to come on too strong. He pressed his mouth to Harrys, then, and they dissolved against one another. Harry soon found himself pressed against the kitchen counter, mewling softly as he rutted against Charlie. The only sounds echoing through the house were their pants and moans.

The alarm on Charlies watch started to beep, the sound grating against Harrys sensitive ears. Charlie tore his mouth away from Harrys, glaring down at his wrist.

"Shit. I have to get to work." He took a step away, only for Harry to hiss at him.

"Charlie, I swear to God if you leave me here like this, by myself, you will regret it." His voice was low and dangerous and so completely debauched that Charlies normally strong work commitment and resolve disintegrated instantly. He still tried to protest, though he knew it was feeble.

"I can't just call in sick." Yes he could. He would, he knew, but a token resistance was needed.

"You can, you will. Now. Phone." Harry demanded, and god if that didn't make Charlie hard. Normally Harry was so sweet and compliant. Token resistance over. Charlie raced to the phone, and Harry followed him casually. Charlie could feel Harrys body pressed against his back as he dialled the number for work with shaky fingers. Harry purred into the ear that didn't have a phone against it, and moved so he was pressed chest to chest with Charlie.

"Good boy, Charlie. You get a prize." And then Harry dropped to his knees. Clawed fingers deftly undid the standard issue belt, and with a simple flick the button was undone. Harry lean forward and gripped the zipper in his teeth, pulling down in a way that was probably illegal in several states. Charlie was pulled away from this by a voice at the other end of the line.

"Hello?" Charlie swallowed as he steadied himself. He couldn't moan over the phone line. They had his number, and it would freak the fuck out of whatever poor sod had picked up the phone.

"Er, hi. I-it's Charlie Swann. I'm gonna have to call in-" Charlie had been aware that his voice hadn't been the steadiest at the start of the call, but he had to cut himself off and press the phone into his jacket so he could properly stifle his moan with the other hand. Harry had him out of his pants now, and was teasing the fuck out of him. A lick here, a slight nip there.

"Charlie?" Charlie could recognise the slightly concerned voice on the other end of the phone. Dale, a friend of his, had picked up the phone. He had to finish this conversation, quickly, so he could concentrate on Harry and that sinful little mouth of his.

"Yeah, I'm here Dale. Gonna-" pause, slight hitch of breath, "Gonna have to call in sick today." Dale said something then, but Charlie wouldn't have heard anything from the other end of the line even if gunshots had been fired. Harry had just taken him into his mouth, and was looking straight up at him. His green eyes twinkled and he bobbed his head a bit. Charlie felt his knees go weak.

"Ah, yeah, Dale, sure. Whatever. I'm not gonna be in today. I'm sick. Very sick." Charlie said vacantly as Harry hands started to wander across the bottom of his stomach.

"Yeah, that's got nothing to do with what I just said." Dale said, a hint of amusement in his voice. Dale had already flicked the button to put the call on speaker phone, and Charlie hadn't even noticed. He would find out, when he next went to work, what had happened and be rightly embarrassed. At the moment, though, he was threading one hand through Harrys thick hair. He avoided the ears, not sure if Harry would appreciate him tugging on them in lieu of hair.

"Yep. I'll do that. But I won't be in today." Harry looked up at him and held up two fingers. Charlie was confused, and Harry rolled his eyes. Charlie almost whimpered as Harry let his cock slide from his mouth so he could mouth '_two days._' Charlie knew, somewhere in his mind, that he shouldn't miss two days of work. But he hardly ever used his sick days, anyway, and this seemed like a noble cause.

"I mean two days," he let out a little sigh as Harry smiled and engulfed his arching dick once more. "I'll be back in two days. Terribly sick, you see." Charlie nodded, even though Dale couldn't see it. There was muffled laughter from the other side of the line, but Charlie didn't even register it.

"Okay, see you in two days." Dale said, openly laughing now.

"Yep. Sick. Two days. Bye." And then he threw the phone towards the cradle and leant back against the wall behind him. He needed the support. He'd brushed Harrys ear and holy fuck, he could purr. Charlie let out a lewd moan and threw his head back as Harry continued to work his member.

Half a town away, in the police station, there was money exchanging hands. Regardless of Charlies best intentions, the phone hadn't quite made it into the cradle, and for a few seconds, before Dale ended the call, all that could be heard through the speaker was the absolutely shameless moans of Charlie. There had been bets placed about whether Charlie was shagging someone, and his vehement denial of having a girlfriend had only made the pool larger, and Dale would have to go to the diner to settle a few cross-work place bets. Because is turns out yes, yes he was. And thoroughly enjoying himself, as well.

..|..

Sex with Charlie was different that sex with others. Actually, Harry had never been with two people who had sex the same way. They were all very distinct men. The different thing about Charlie, however, was that he was exceedingly gentle. Always. He words were gently, his hands were gentle, his ministrations were gentle. Hell, the only thing about him that wasn't gentle, but that was only because it would break science if something that hard could be gentle at the same time. Charlie always took his time. It was almost as if the man could unconsciously sense that their time was drawing to a close, and was making the most of it.

Harry was currently lounging around, using the camera that he'd found in one of the cupboards to take pictures of everything. He really liked Charlie, and didn't want his disappearance to cause the man to go all mopey. So he was going to take as many pictures as possible to remind Charlie that they'd been very happy. Charlie hadn't been too concerned. After all, Harry took pictures during breakfast, at dinner, when they were watching TV, or out in the yard. Harry had a photo of them lying in bed together, of the bedroom itself. He'd snuck a picture of Charlie in the shower.

Charlie had caught him, and then proceeded to jump out of the shower, snatch the camera and capture the moment that he pushed a laughing Harry into the shower. Harry took photos when Harry and Billy came around to visit, and he took photos of Charlie trying to make him a romantic dinner. Charlie really shouldn't have been so surprised when Harry brought that Camera out during sex. Then he'd gotten into the spirit of things and had taken several pictures himself.

Later, Charlie would realise that the temporary indulgence would come with the price of severe embarrassment when he had the photos developed. The looks on the faces of the ladies behind the counter had made him colour worse than a tomato. Harry had laughed heartily, and had offered to go down next time. Charlie had retorted that he already did. In something that wasn't actually malicious enough to be spite, Charlie made sure to fill the entirety of the next roll of fill with pictures of Harry in compromising positions. Charlie didn't find it so fun when Harry came back with several phone numbers.

Harry looked up with a smile when Charlie walked through the front door. Night had fallen outside, and Harry waved Charlie towards where he sat. Dinner was in the fridge, Charlie had been late, and it would keep for a while yet.

"Charlie, I have something I needed to tell you." Harry had been pondering on it all day. He was going to tell Charlie about the fact of his disappearance. He wasn't going to tell the truth, hell no, but he was going to alert the man.

"Yeah?" Charlie scooped Harry up into his arms, delighting in the happy laugh, and dropped down to sit on the couch, Harry comfortably cocooned in his arms.

"I haven't been entirely truthful with you." Harry said, and there was a long pause. Harry smiled reassuringly at the older man.

"It's nothing bad, is it?" Harry smiled.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to tell you that I'm underage, or anything." Not that it wasn't true, but he just wasn't going to tell Charlie.

"I might have to leave." Charlie frowned, and Harry got the feeling that the man would've preferred to have been told that Harry was only sixteen. Maybe fifteen.

"What do you mean?" Charlie asked, holding Harry closer, tighter.

"Did you never wonder why you found me unconscious in the forest?" Charlie nodded, if somewhat reluctantly, and Harry nuzzled into his chest.

"I've been running. Running away from someone, and I don't think I can stop." Harry confided quietly. He wasn't technically lying to Charlie, he just wasn't disclosing the entire truth. Charlie would be pissed if he ever found out, but it was either that or go, _oh yeah, and by the way, __**I travel through**__**dimensions**_. This was easier.

"I don't want it to catch up to me here and hurt you. I would hate it, and myself, if it hurt you." Charlie stayed silent and hugged him harder, pressing his chin into the top of Harrys head.

"One day you could come home or wake up and I won't be here. I'll be gone." Harry could hear Harrys heart thudding hard against the inside of his ribcage, and Harry sighed.

"I'm sorry, Charlie, this has been unfair to you. I shouldn't have gotten involved." Harry whispered, truly feeling bad about the heartache this man was going through.

"Don't you dare." Charlie growled, looking down into Harrys eyes.

"I will never regret any of this, ever. Not in the slightest." Harry smiled.

"I don't regret this escalation, either." Harry chuckled, and snuggled back down into the warmth Charlie provided.

"How will I know if you leave of your own free will, or if whatever's chasing you has found you?" Harry rubbed his hand over the part of Charlies chest that he wasn't resting his head on.

"Because if it's found me, my body will still be here." Harry whispered. Lie. Lie. Lie. Well, if Voldemort found him, that would be true, but hopefully Voldemort is dead by now. And besides, he'd be hard pressed to follow Harrys trail through the worlds. Harry imagined that sort of thing would be hard to track. Charlie stood, cradling Harry to his body, and walked towards the stairs. He didn't reply to that statement with words, but used his body to comfort Harry and himself.

Later that night, as they were drifting in and out of sleep, Charlie mused on growing a moustache. Harry chuckled.

"I've never been with anyone in possession of a moustache. Or anyone with facial hair, really. Well, there were side burns, but I'm not sure if that counts…" Charlie felt his curiosity spark. How many men had Harry been with? He probably shouldn't even contemplate asking that question but…

"Really? What were their distinguishing features, then?" He asked, trying to be subtle, but from the amusement radiating off Harry, he had failed dismally again.

"Well, Warren had shoulder length hair with a streak of red. He was gruff, a total bad boy. Leather jacket. Logan was a bit scruffy, around the edges. Well, not just the edges, but anyway, he had the side burns; he had a leather jacket as well. Motorbike, short hair, muscled like a bloody ox." Charlie narrowed his eyes. He couldn't help but imagine a variation of that statement. '_Hung like a bloody ox._' He closed his eyes. This was a bad idea, especially with the thought that Harry was probably going to leave him hanging over his head.

"Logan was a lot wild, actually. Feral, you could say." Harry had a bit of a chuckle, but Charlie didn't get the joke, so instead he stewed upon the images his mind could conjure of the two men he now knew Harry had been with before him. Warren was obviously a model, with fine features and beautiful hair, whereas Logan was the wild man that Charlie knew Renee used to fantasize about with the help of her books.

"There was Bruce, although I never actually had sex with Bruce." Charlie smiled at that, but the smile quickly disappeared with the next statement.

"He had a killer body though. I loved just running my fingers along it. Plus he had a ridiculous amount of money. I mean, seriously, the man had a butler. A butler! He was a sweet old man, though, always making us tea. Even though Bruce hated tea. And then there was Archi, and he was very handsome. Was a shame that we didn't speak the same language. If we did, he might have even told me that he was married before his wife came home and I found out that way." Harry was still sore about that.

Charlie kissed Harry on the lips, and Harry smiled at him. He had, maybe, given the information about his friends in the previous worlds in a manner designed to make Charlie jealous. After all, if he hadn't wanted to know, he shouldn't've asked.

"But you know something, Charlie?" Harry asked, his voice whispered as he snuggled closer to the cop. Charlie raised an eyebrow.

"None of them were you."

..|..

A fortnight later, when Charlie came home from work and Harry was gone, Charlie looked through the entire house. There was no sign that Harry had been there for a few hours. Charlie sat on the lounge for hours, hoping against hope that Harry had just gone out for a run or to stock up on groceries or something. The longer the night wore on, however, the shorter his hope became.

The clock struck midnight before Charlie stood up and made his way to bed. The next day he would carefully, oh so carefully, box up the multitudes of photos that he had, and the rolls of undeveloped negatives, and place them under his bed. He kept one photo out of the box, and placed it on his dresser. He would remember Harry, the playful little cat boy, for as long as he lived.


End file.
